' 


.  ' 


- 


•; 

* 


• 

-■ 


* 


■ 


Now  storming  fury  rose, 
And  clamour,  such  as  heard  in  heaven  till  now 
Was  never. 


Book  VI.,  lines  20? — 209 


MILTON’S 


ARADISE 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

GUSTAVE  DOR6. 


EDITED, 

WITH  NOTES  AND  A  LIFE  OF  MILTON, 

BY 

Robert  Vaughan,  D.D. 


CHICAGO  AND  NEW  YORK: 

BELFORI),  CLARK  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS. 


1886. 


' 


. 

THE  GETTY  RESEARCH 
.jftTUTE  LIBRARY 


CONTENTS. 


The  Life  of  John  Milton 
Introduction 


pagg 

vii 

xliii 


PARADISE  LOST. 


BOOK  I. 

The  First  Book  proposes,  first  in  brief,  the  whole  subject,  man’s  disobedience,  and  the  loss  thereupon  of  Paradise, 
wherein  he  was  placed; then  touches  the  prime  cause  of  his  fall,  the  Serpent,  or  rather  Satan  in  the  Serpent; 
who,  revolting  from  God,  and  drawing  to  his  side  many  legions  of  angels,  was,  by  the  command  of  God, 
driven  out  of  Heaven,  with  all  his  crew,  into  the  great  deep.  Which  action  passed  over,  the  Poem  hastens 
into  the  midst  of  things,  presenting  Satan  with  his  angels  now  falling  into  Hell,  described  here,  not  in  the 
centre, for  Heaven  and  Earth  may  be  supposed  as  yet  not  made,  certainly  not  yet  accursed,  but  in  a  place  of  utter 
darkuess,  fitliest  called  Chaos.  Here  Satan,  with  his  angels,  lying  on  the  burning  lake,  thunderstruck  and 
astonished,  after  a  certain  space  recovers,  as  from  confusion,  calls  up  to  him  who  next  in  order  and  dignity 
lay  by  him;  they  confer  of  their  miserable  fall;  Satan  awakens  all  his  legions,  who  lay  till  then  in  the  same 
manner  confounded.  They  rise;  iheir  numbers;  array  of  battle;  their  chief  leaders  named,  according  to  the 
idols  known  afterward  in  Canaan  and  the  countries  adjoining.  To  these  Satan  directs  his  speech,  comforts 
them  with  hope  yet  of  regaining  Heaven,  but  tells  them  lastly  of  a  new  world,  and  a  new  kind  of  creatuie 
to  be  created,  according  to  an  ancient  prophecy,  or  report  in  Heaven;  for,  that  angels  were  long  before  this 
visible  creation,  was  the  opinion  of  many  ancient  fathers.  To  find  out  the  truth  of  this  prophecy,  and  what 
to  determine  thereon,  he  refers  to  a  full  council.  What  his  associates  thence  attempt.  Pandemonium,  ths 
palace  of  Satan,  rises,  suddenly  built  out  of  the  deep:  the  infernal  peers  there  sit  in  council.  .  .  .  1 


BOOK  II. 

The  consultation  begun,  Satan  debates  whether  another  battle  be  to  be  hazarded  for  the  recovery  of  heaven. 
Some  advise  it,  others  dissuade :  a  third  proposal  is  preferred,  mentioned  before  by  Satan,  to  search  the  truth 
of  that  prophecy  or  tradition  in  heaven  concerning  another  world,  and  another  kind  of  creature,  equal  or 
not  much  inferior  to  themselves,  about  this  time  to  be  created.  Their  doubt  who  shall  be  sent  on  this  diffi¬ 
cult  search;  Satan,  their  chief,  undertakes  alone  the  voyage,  is  honored  and  applauded.  The  council  thus 
ended,  the  rest  betake  them  several  ways,  and  to  several  employments,  as  their  inclinations  lead  them,  to  en¬ 
tertain  the  time  till  Satan  return.  He  passes  on  his  journey  to  hell-gates ;  finds  them  shut,  and  who  sat 
there  to  guard  them ;  by  whom  at  length  they  are  opened,  and  discover  to  him  the  great  gulf  between  hell 
and  heaven  ;  with  what  difficulty  he  passes  through  directed  by  Chaos,  the  power  of  that  place,  to  the  sight 
of  this  new  world  which  he  sought  . . 26 


BOOK  III. 

God,  siting  on  His  throne,  sees  Satan  flying  towards  this  world,  then  newly  created:  shows  him  to  the  Son,  who 
sat  at  His  right  hand:  foretells  the  success  of  Satan  in  perverting  mankind ;  clears  His  own  justice  and  wis¬ 
dom  from  all  imputation,  having  created  man  free,  and  able  enough  to  have  withstood  his  tempter;  yet  de- 

iii 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


dares  Ilis  purpose  of  grace  towards  him,  in  regard  he  fell  not  of  his  own  malice,  as  did  Satan,  but  by  him 
seduced.  The  Son  of  God  renders  praise  to  His  Father  for  the  manifestation  of  His  gracious  purpose  to¬ 
wards  man ;  but  God  again  declares  that  grace  cannot  be  extended  towards  man  without  the  satisfaction  of 
Divine  justice.  Manliath  offended  the  majesty  of  God  by  aspiring  to  Godhead,  and,  therefore,  with  his 
progeny,  devoted  to  death,  must  die,  unless  some  one  can  be  found  sufficient  to  answer  for  his  offence,  and 
undergo' his  punishment.  The  Son  of  God  freely  offers  himself  a  ransom  for  man:  the  Father  accepts  Him, 
ordains  His  incarnation,  pronounces  Ilis  exaltation  above  all  names  in  heaven  and  earth ;  commands  all  the 
angels  to  adore  Him.  They  obey,  and  by  hymning  to  their  harps  in  full  choir,  celebrate  the  Father  and  the 
Son.  Meanwhile,  Satan  alights  upon  the  bare  convex  of  this  world’s  outermost  orb;  where  wandering,  he 
first  finds  a  place,  since  called  the  Limbo  of  Vanity:  what  persons  and  things  fly  up  thither:  thence  comes  to 
the  gates  of  heaven,  described  ascending  by  stairs,  and  the  waters  above  the  firmament  that  flow  about  it: 
his  passage  thence  to  the  orb  of  the  sun;  he  finds  there  Uriel,  the  regent  of  that  orb,  but  first  changes  him¬ 
self  into  the  shape  of  a  meaner  angel;  and,  pretending  a  zealous  desire  to  behold  the  new  creation,  and  man, 
whom  God  had  placed  there,  inquires  of  him  the  place  of  his  habitation,  and  is  directed :  alights  first  on 
Mount  Niphates . . . . 


BOOK  IV. 

Satan,  now  in  prospect  of  Eden,  and  nigh  the  place  where  he  must  now  attempt  the  bold  enterprise  which  he 
undertook  alone  against  God  and  man,  falls  into  many  doubts  with  himself,  and  many  passions,  fear,  envy, 
and  despair;  but  at  length  confirms  himself  in  evil,  journeys  on  to  Paradise,  whose  outward  prospect  and 
situation  is  descaled;  overleaps  the  bounds;  sits  in  the  shape  of  a  cormorant  on  the  tree  of  life,  as  the  high¬ 
est  in  the  gardeu,  to  look  about  him.  The  garden  described;  Satan’s  first  sight  of  Adam  and  Eve;  his  won¬ 
der  at  their  excellent  form  and  happy  state,  but  with  resolution  to  work  their  fall;  overhears  their  discourse, 
thence  gathers  that  the  tree  of  knowledge  was  forbidden  them  to  eat  of,  under  penalty  of  death;  and  thereon 
intends  to  found  his  temptation,  by  seducing  them  to  transgress;  then  leaves  them  awhile  to  know  farther  of 
their  state  by  some  other  means.  Meanwhile,  Uriel,  descending  on  a  sunbeam,  warns  Gabriel,  who  had  in 
charge  the  gate  of  Paradise,  that  some  evd  spirit  had  escaped  the  deep,  and  passed  at  noon  by  his  sphere,  in 
the  shape  of  a  good  angel,  down  to  Paradise,  discovered  after  by  his  furious  gestures  in  the  mount.  Ga¬ 
briel  promises  to  find  him  ere  morning.  Night  coming  on,  Adam  and  Eve  discourse  of  going  to  their  rest: 
their  bower  described;  their  evening  worship.  Gabriel,  drawing  forth  his  bands  of  night-watch  to  walk  the 
rounds  of  Paradise,  appoints  two  strong  angels  to  Adam’s  bower,  lest  the  evil  spirit  should  be  there  doiug 
some  harm  to  Adam  or  Eve  sleeping;  there  they  find  him  at  the  ear  of  Eve,  tempting  her  in' a  dream,  and 
bring  him,  though  unwilling,  to  Gabriel;  by  whom  questioned,  he  scornfully  answers;  prepares  resistance; 
but,  hindered  by  a  sign  from  heaven,  flies  out  of  Paradise . <  ,  79 


BOOK  V. 

Mounino  approached.  Eve  relates  to  Adams  her  troublesome  dream;  he  likes  it  not,  yet  comforts  her;  they  come 
forth  to  their  day-labors;  their  morning  hymn  at  the  door  of  their  bower.  God,  to  render  man  inexcusable, 
sends  Raphael  to  admonish  him  of  his  obedience,  of  his  free  estate,  of  his  enemy  near  at  hand,  who  he  is, 
and  w  hy  his  euemy,  and  whatever  else  may  avail  Adam  to  know.  Raphael  comes  down  to  Paradise ;  his  appear¬ 
ance  described;  his  coming  discerned  by  Adam  afar  off,  sitting  at  the  door  of  his  bower;  he  goes  out  to  meet 
him,  brings  him  to  his  lodge,  entertains  him  with  the  choicest  fruits  of  Paradise,  got  together  by  Eve;  their 
discourse  at  table;  Rapahcl  performs  his  messgage,  minds  Adam  of  bis  state  and  of  his  enemy;  relates,  at 
Adam  s  request,  who  that  enemy  is,  and  how  he  came  to  be  so,  beginning  from  the  first  revolt  in  heaven,  and 
the  occasion  thereof;  how  he  drew  his  legions  after  him  to  the  parts  of  the  north,  and  there  inched  them  to 
rebel  with  him,  persuading  all  but  only  Abdiel,  a  seraph,  who  in  argument  dissuades  and  opposes  him,  then 
forsakes  him 


rsuuii  vi. 


ai  n.AEL  contmues  to  rt  late  how  Miehael  aud  Gabriel  were  sent  forth  to  battle  against  Satan  and  his  angels.  The 
"  !  Ir'.lt  '  escribed .  Satan  and  his  powers  retire  under  night:  he  calls  a  council ;  invents  devilish  engines, 
i,  in  tin  second  day  s  fight,  put  Michael  and  his  angels  to  some  disorder;  but  they  at  length  pulling  up 
mountains,  overwhelm  both  the  force  and  machines  of  Satan :  yet  the  tumult  not  so  ending,  God,  on  the  third 
c  ay,  sends  Messiah  Ilis  Sou,  for  whom  He  had  reserved  the  glory  of  that  victory;  He,  in  the  power  of  Ilis 


.  CONTENTS. 


Y 


Father,  coming  to  the  place,  and  causing  all  his  legions  to  stand  still  on  either  side,  with  his  chariot  and 
thunder  driving  into  the  midst  of  his  enemies,  pursues  them,  unable  to  resist,  towards  the  wall  of  heaven; 
which  opening,  they  leap  down  with  horror  and  confusion  into  the  place  of  punishment  prepared  for  them 
in  the  deep:  Messiah  returns  with  triumph  to  his  Father  ..........  136 


BOOK  VII. 

Raphael,  at  the  request  of  Adam,  relates  how  and  wherefore  this  world  was  first  created;  that  God,  after  the 
expelling  of  Satan  and  his  angels  out  of  heaven,  declared  His  pleasure  to  create  another  world,  and  other 
creatures  to  dwell  therein;  sends  His  Son  with  glory,  and  attendance  of  augels,  to  perform  the  work  of  cre¬ 
ation  in  six  days:  the  angels  celebrate  with  hymns  the  performance  thereof,  and  His  re-ascension  into 
Heaven . 163 


BOOK  VIII. 

Adam  inquires  concerning  celestial  motions;  is  doubtfully  answered,  and  exhorted  to  search  rather  things  more 
worthy  of  knowledge;  Adam  assents;  aud,  still  desirous  to  detain  Raphael,  relates  to  him  what  he  remem¬ 
bered  since  his  own  creation;  his  placing  in  Paradise;  his  talk  with  God  concerning  solitude  and  fit  society; 
his  first  meeting  and  nuptials  with  Eve;  his  discourse  with  the  angel  thereupon,  who,  after  admonitions  re¬ 
peated,  departs . 182 


BOOK  IX. 

Satan,  having  compassed  the  earth,  with  meditated  guile  returns,  as  a  mist,  by  night,  into  Paradise;  enters  into 
the  serpent  sleeping.  Adam  and  Eve  in  the  morniug  go  forth  to  their  labors,  which  Eve  proposes  to  divide  in 
several  places,  each  laboring  apart;  Adam  consents  not,  alleging  the  danger  lest  that  enemy  of  whom  they 
were  forewarned,  should  attempt  her,  found  alone:  Eve,  loth  to  be  thought  not  circumspect  or  firm  enough, 
urges  her  going  apart,  the  rather  desirous  to  make  trial  of  her  strength;  Adam  at  last  yields;  the  serpent 
finds  her  alone:  his  subtle  approach,  first  gazing;  then  speaking;  with  much  flattery  extolling  Eve  above  all 
other  creatures.  Eve,  wondering  to  hear  the  serpent  speak,  asks  how  he  attained  to  human  speech,  and  such 
understanding,  not  till  now;  the  serpent  answers  that,  by  tasting  of  a  certain  tree  in  the  garden,  he  attained 
both  to  speech  and  reason,  till  then  void  of  both.  Eve  requires  him  to  bring  her  to  that  tree,  and  finds  it 
to  be  the  tree  of  knowledge,  forbidden:  the  serpent,  now  grown  bolder,  with  many  wiles  and  arguments  in¬ 
duces  her  at  length  to  eat;  she,  pleased  with  the  taste,  deliberates  awhile  whether  to  impart  thereof  to  Adam 
or  not;  at  last  brings  him  of  the  fruit:  relates  what  persuaded  her  to  eat  thereof.  Adam,  at  first  amazed,  but 
perceiving  her  lost,  resolves,  through  vehemence  of  love  to  perish  with  her;  and,  extenuating  the  trespass, 
eats  also  of  the  fruit:  the  effects  thereof  in  them  both;  they  seek  to  cover  their  nakedness;  then  fall  to  vari¬ 
ance  and  accusation  of  one  another . ‘201 


BOOK  X. 

Man’s  transgression  known,  the  guardian  angels  forsake  Paradise,  and  return  up  to  heaven  to  approve  their  vig¬ 
ilance,  aud  are  approved;  God  declaring  that  the  entrance  of  Satan  could  not  be  by  them  prevented.  He 
sends  His  Son  to  judge  the  transgressors;  who  descends,  and  gives  sentence  accordingly ;  then,  in  pity,  clothes 
them  both,  and  rc-ascends.  Sin  and  Death,  sitting  till  then  at  the  gates  of  hell,  by  wondrous  sympathy 
feeling  the  success  of  Satan  in  this  new  world,  and  the  sin  by  man  there  committed,  resolve  to  sit  no  longer 
confined  iu  hell,  but  to  follow  Satan,  their  sire,  up  to  the  place  of  man.  To  make  the  way  easier  irom  hell 
to  this  world  to  and  fro,  they  pave  a  broad  highway  or  bridge  over  Chaos,  according  to  the  track  that  Satan 
first  made;  then,  preparing  for  earth,  they  meet  him,  proud  of  his  success,  returning  to  hell;  their  mutual 
gratulation.  Satan  arrives  at  Pandemonium;  in  full  assembly  relates,  with  boasting,  his  success  against  man; 
instead  of  applause  is  entertained  with  a  general  hiss  by  all  his  audience,  transformed,  with  himself  also, 
suddenly  into  serpents,  according  to  his  doom  given  in  Paradise;  then,  deluded  with  a  show  of  the  forbid¬ 
den  tree  springing  up  before  them,  greedily  reaching  to  take  of  the  fruit,  chew  dust  and  bitter  ashes.  The 
proceedings  of  Sin  and  Death ;  God  foretells  the  final  victory  of  His  Son  over  them,  and  the  renewing  of  all  things ; 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


but,  for  the  present  commands  His  angels  to  make  several  alterations  in  the  heavens  and  elements.  Adam 
more  and  more  perceiving  his  fallen  condition,  heavily  bewails,  rejects  the  condolement  of  Eve;  she  persists, 
and  at  length  appeases  him:  then,  to  evade  the  curse  likely  to  fall  on  their  offspring,  proposes  to  Adam  vio¬ 
lent  ways,  which  he  approves  uot;  but  conceiving  better  hope,  puts  her  in  mind  of  the  late  promise  made 
them,  that  her  seed  should  be  revenged  on  the  serpent;  and  exhorts  her,  with  him,  to  seek  peace  of  the  of¬ 
fended  Deity,  by  repentance  and  supplication . 236 


BOOK  XI. 

The  Son  of  God  presents  to  Ilis  Father  the  prayers  of  our  first  parents  now  repenting,  and  intercedes  for  them: 

God  accepts  them,  but  declares  that  they  must  no  longer  abide  in  Paradise;  sends  Michael  with  a  band  of 
cherubim  to  dispossess  them;  but  first  to  reveal  to  cYdam  future  things:  Michael's  coming  down.  Adam 
shows  to  Eve  certain  ominous  signs:  he  discerns  Michael’s  approach ;  goes  out  to  meet  him:  the  angel  de¬ 
nounces  their  departure.  Eve’s  lamentation.  Adam  pleads,  but  submits:  the  angel  leads  him  up  to  a  high 
hill ;  sets  before  him  in  vision  what  shall  happen  till  the  flood . 268 


BOOK  XII. 

The  Angel  Michael  continues,  from  the  flood,  to  relate  what  shall  succeed;  then  in  the  mention  of  Abraham, 
comes  by  degrees  to  explain  who  that  seed  of  the  woman  shall  be  which  was  promised  Adam  and  Eve  in  the 
fall:  Ilis  incarnation,  death,  resurrection,  and  ascension ;  the  state  of  the  Church  till  his  second  coming. 
Adam,  greatly  satisfied  and  recomforted  by  these  relations  and  promises,  descends  the  hill  with  Michael; 
wakens  Eve,  who  all  this  while  had  slept,  but  with  gentle  dreams  composed  to  quietness  of  mind  and  sub¬ 
mission.  Michael,  in  either  hand  leads  them  out  of  Paradise,  the  fiery  sword  waving  behind  them,  and  the 
cherubim  taking  their  stations  to  guard  the  place . 295 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON 


ABLY  in  tlie  reign  of  Elizabeth,  there  dwelt  at  Holton,  in  Oxfordshire,  or  near  to  it,  a  sub¬ 
stantial  yeoman,  named  Milton.  An  ancestor  of  this  person,  it  was  said,  had  been  a  man  of 
some  position  among  the  gentry  in  those  parts,  but  having  taken  the  losing  side  during  the  Wars 
of  the  Roses,  had  been  reduced  to  much  lower  circumstances.  The  Milton  we  have  mentioned, 
however,  could  send  his  son,  John  Milton,  to  Oxford  for  his  education.  The  father  adhered  to  the 
creed  which  prevailed  before  the  Reformation;  the  sou,  while  a  studeut  at  Christchurch,  renounced 
the  faith  of  his  forefathers,  and  avowed  himself  a  Protestant;  whereupon  his  father  disinherited 
and  disowned  him.1 

But  the  younger  Milton,  though  he  became,  in  this  manner,  virtually  fatherless,  does  not  ap¬ 
pear  to  have  been  disheartened.  Leaving  Oxford,  we  find  him,  some  years  later,  in  London,  where 
he  has  so  made  his  way  through  a  scrivener’s— or,  as  we  should  now  say,  an  attorney’s — office,  as 
to  have  become  himself  a  scrivener.  About  the  year  1G00  he  married.  If  we  credit  Philips,  the 
grandson  of  the  now  prosperous  citizen,  his  wife  was  “of  the  family  of  the  Castons,  derived  origi¬ 
nally  from  Wales;”  and  if  so,  John  Milton,  the  poet,  as  born  of  this  marriage,  must  have  had,  in 
common  with  Shakespeare,  a  dash  of  Celtic  blood  in  his  veins,  and  might  have  owed  something,  in 
his  higher  temperament,  to  the  fervent  and  imaginative  genius  of  a  people  whom  he  describes  as 
“an  ancient  and  haughty  race,”  and  with  whose  ancient  and  beautiful  fictions  he  never  ceased  to 
be  enamored.  But  Antony  Wood  says,  on  the  authority  of  Aubrey,  who  knew  the  family,  that 
the  mother  of  the  poet  was  “Sarah,  of  the  ancient  family  of  the  Bradshaws.”  We  incline  to  think, 
however,  that  Philips,  though  not  so  safe  a  witness  generally  as  Aubrey,  was  not  likely  to  have 
been  in  error  on  so  familiar  a  point  of  family  history,  especially  when  committing  himself  to  the 
writing  of  a  life  of  Milton.  Mrs.  Philips,  the  sister  of  the  poet,  must  surely  have  known  the 
maiden  name  of  her  own  mother.  It  may  be  that  Philips  and  Aubrey  are  both  right.  The  mother 
of  Milton’s  mother  may  have  been  a  Bradshaw  married  to  a  Caston;  and  if  so,  the  relation  of  the 
Miltons  to  the  Bradshaws  would  not  have  been  forgotten.  It  is  difficult  to  imagine  that  either 
Philips  or  Aubrey  could  have  expressed  themselves  so  positively  in  this  matter  without  warrant; 
and,  in  this  view,  we  are  not  obliged  to  suppose  that  they  really  did  so.  Philips,  always  a  Royal¬ 
ist,  may  not  have  cared  to  give  prominence  to  the  name  of  Bradshaw,  and  Aubrey  may  have  had  a 
feeling  prompting  him  the  other  way.  Down  to  the  time  of  this  marriage,  the  home  of  the  Brad¬ 
shaws  had  been  almost  confined  to  Lancashire  and  Cheshire,  and  in  those  counties  intermarriages 
with  the  Welsh  was  by  no  means  uncommon.2 

Six  children  were  the  offspring  of  this  marriage,  three  of  whom  died  in  infancy.  John,  the 
poet,  was  one  of  the  remaining  three,  and  was  born  in  Bread  Street,  London,  September  9th,  1608. 


vii 


1  Aubrey’s  Lives.  Philips’  Life  of  Milton. 


1  Masson’s  Life  of  Milton. 


TIIE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


viii 

He  grew  up  with  a  sister  some  years  older  than  himself,  and  with  a  brother  seven  years  younger. 
The  home  of  this  family  during  Milton’s  early  years  was  in  the  heart  of  the  city— Bread  Street 
being  a  street  branching  off  from  Cheapside.  The  house  was  distinguished  from  the  rest  by  the 
sign  of  the  Spread  Eagle  placed  upon  it— such  signs  being  to  houses  in  that  day,  especially  to 
houses  of  any  kind  ot  business— what  numbers  are  at  present.  Of  the  Bread  Street  of  Milton's 
youth  not  a  vestige  remains;  it  was  swept  away  by  the  great  fire  in  1606.  But  the  new  houses 
were  built  upon  the  old  sites,  so  that  the  street  is  perpetuated.  As  we  pass  along,  it  is  left  to  the 
imagination  to  displace  all  the  visible  erections,  and  to  recall  the  lofty  buildings  of  wood  and  plas¬ 
ter,  carved  and  colored  in  quaint  fashions,  and  projecting  storey  above  storey,  until  small  space, 
perhaps,  is  left  for  a  strip  of  blue  or  misty  sky  to  be  seen  above.  Citizens,  as  a  rule,  then  lived  in 
the  city.  The  lower  parts  of  those  somewhat  heavy  and  gloomy  but  picturesque  structures  were 
assigned  to  business;  the  upper  floors  were  the  homes  of  the  citizen  families,  even  in  the  case,  for 
the  greater  part,  of  the  most  wealthy. 

Young  Milton  would  know  Bread  Street  as  it  was,  the  “Cheap”  as  it  was.  He  would  make  his 
excursions  through  Paternoster  Bow,  long  before  the  booksellers  had  dropped,  one  by  one,  from 
their  old  quarters  in  St.  Paul’s  Churchyard,  into  that  tunnel  of  a  thoroughfare,  and  were  to  make 
make  it  memorable  as  the  mart  of  publishers.  St.  Paul’s  itself,  too— the  old  Gothic  building,  we 
mean,  large  enough  to  have  euclosed  the  present  within  its  walls,  and  with  room  to  spare— must 
soon  have  become  familiar  to  the  future  poet.  He  must  often  have  trod  its  promenade  along  its 
great  centre,  where  crowds  of  well-dressed  idlers  might  be  daily  seen,  whose  noise  and  buzz,  as 
they  walked  and  talked,  gave  the  place  the  air  of  an  exchange  more  than  of  a  place  for  religious 
worship;  serving  as  an  outlet  for  news  and  gossip  of  all  sorts,  as  newspapers  did  not  then  exist  to 
be  the  carriers  of  such  wares. 

Of  his  father,  Milton  says — and  with  a.  pride  which  is  to  his  own  honor — that  “he  was  a  man 
of  the  highest  integrity.”  Later  he  writes:  “I  had,  from  my  early  years,  by  the  ceaseless  dili¬ 
gence  and  care  of  my  father— whom  God  recompense — been  exercised  to  the  tongues,  and  some 
sciences,  as  my  age  would  suffer,  by  sundry  masters  and  teachers,  both  at  home  and  at  the  schools.’  ’ 1 
And,  later  still,  he  says:  “My  faiher  destined  me,  while  yet  a  little  child,  for  the  study  of  humane 
letters.  Both  at  the  grammar  school  and  at  home  he  caused  me  to  be  instructed  daily.”  *  We 
know  also,  from  other  sources,  that  the  elder  Milton  must  have  been  a  man  of  considerable  culture, 
and  that  he  was  not  only  fond  of  music,  but  excelled  as  a  composer.  Lines  harmonized  by  his 
skill  still  hold  a  place  in  our  English  psalmody ;  and  one  of  them  might  be  heard  in  his  time  as  a 
lullaby  on  the  lips  of  almost  every  nurse.3  Aubrey  describes  him  as  “  an  ingeniose  man;’’  and  his 
grandson,  Philips,  records  of  him,  that  while  assiduous  in  business,  he  was  not  so  wedded  to  it  as  to 
have  denied  himself  intervals  of  relaxation  and  self-improvement.  He  lived  to  see  a  green  old  age, 
being  eighty-four  years  of  age  when  lie  died.  Concerning  the  partner  of  the  good  man’s  pilgrimage, 
Milton  writes,  that  “  She  was  a  most  excellent  mother,  and  known  by  her  charities  in  the  neigh¬ 
bourhood.”4 


1  Heatons  of  Church  Government ,  book  ii. 

!  Defensio  Seeunda. 

1  hu  tunes  known  ns  Norwich  and  York.  Masson's  Life  of  Milton.  The  fact  that  Milton  when  writing  to  his 
father,  on  plans  under  consideration  between  them,  should  have  sent  his  thoughts  to  him  in  the  form  of  an  extended 
piece  in  Latin  verse  is  evidence  enough  that  the  scrivener  must  have  been  a  scholarly  person.  (See  .Id  Patron,  Pocmata.) 
*  Defensio  ecunda. 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


ix 


The  minister  of  the  parish  in  which  Bread  Street  was  included,  was  a  man  of  some  mark 
among  the  Puritan  clergy  ;  and  the  home  of  the  Miltons  was  pervaded  by  a  piety  of  that  graver 
type.  We  have  no  reason  to  suppose,  however,  that,  the  religious  training-  to  which  Milton  was 
subject,  was  ever  felt  by  him  as  irksome  or  unreasonable.  The  serious  and  religious  spirt  which 
was  to  become  so  conspicuous  in  him  in  later  life,  seems  to  have  been  characteristic  of  him  from 
his  earlier  years.  But  his  Puritanism  through  life,  and  in  the  home,  we  doubt  not,  in  which  he  im¬ 
bibed  it,  was  not  of  a  narrow  and  repulsive  cast.  He  always  wore  his  hair  long,  and,  so  far,  might 
be  classed  with  the  Cavaliers  rather  than  with  the  Roundheads.  He  grew  up  a  reader  of  Shake¬ 
speare,  and  of  all  the  good  poetry  accessible  to  him  in  his  own  or  in  other  languages.  He  was  a 
Puritan  in  so  far  as  Puritanism  meant  piety  and  freedom,  and  no  further. 

We  have  abundant  evidence  that  Milton’s  capacity  began  to  develop  itself  very  early.  We 
know  that  when  not  more  than  ten  years  of  age  the  family  had  come  to  look  upon  him  as  a  wonder¬ 
fully  gifted  boy,  and  were  astonished  as  they  read  the  verses  even  then  composed  by  him.  In  that 
religious  age,  nothing  could  be  more  natural  than  that  in  the  purpose  of  such  parents,  such  a  child 
should  have  been  dedicated  to  the  Church.  Milton  himself  relates  that  such  was  their  intention 
concerning  him,  and  that  his  own  early  inclinations  tended  that  way.  It  was  with  this  view,  no 
doubt,  that  he  was  sent  to  St.  Paul’s  Grammar  School,  then  a  flourishing  foundation,  and  not  more 
than  five  minutes’  walk  from  his  home. 

Milton  was  about  ten  years  of  age  when  this  transition  from  home  tuition  to  the  training  of  a 
public  school  took  place.  The  spirit  in  which  he  prosecuted  his  studies  in  his  schoolboy  days  he 
has  himself  described.  Speaking  of  the  “humane  letters”  to  the  culture  of  which  his  father  had 
separated  him,  he  says,  “Which  I  seized  with  such  eagerness,  that  from  the  twelfth  year  of  my 
age  I  scarcely  ever  went  from  my  lessons  to  bed  before  midnight;  which,  indeed,  was  the  first 
cause  of  injury  to  my  eyes,  to  whose  natural  weakness  there  was  also  added  frequent  headaches. 
All  which  not  retarding  my  impetuosity  in  learning,  he  caused  me  to  be  daily  instructed,  both  at 
the  grammar  school  and  under  other  masters  at  home;  and  then  when  I  had  acquired  various 
tongues  and  also  some  not  insignificant  taste  for  the  sweetness  of  philosophy,  he  sent  me  to  Cam¬ 
bridge.”  1  Aubrey  and  Philips  both  attest  this  much  concerning  him,  and  Wood  adopts  their  state¬ 
ments.  So  Milton  passed  from  boyhood  to  youth,  and  he  has  borne  grateful  testimony  to  the  breadth 
and  liberality  of  the  encouragements  given  to  his  pursuits  by  his  father  as  he  grew  in  years.  The 
following  is  translated  from  a  Latin  poem  addressed  to  his  father: — “When,  at  your  expense,  1  had 
obtained  access  to  the  eloquence  of  the  tongue  of  Romulus,  and  to  the  delights  of  Latium,  and 
the  great  words  becoming  the  mouth  of  Jove,  uttered  by  the  magniloquent  Greeks,  you  then  advised 
me  to  add  the  flowers  which  are  the  pride  of  Gaul,  and  the  speech  which  the  new  Italian,  attesting 
the  barbarian  inroads  by  his  diction,  pours  forth  from  his  degenerate  mouth,  and  the  mysteries 
which  are  spoken  by  the  prophet  of  Palestine.”  2  Happy  the  youth  who  had  a  father  to  whom  it 
became  him  to  make  such  acknowledgments,  and  who  had  a  home  to  look  back  upon  so  full  of 
grateful  memories  ! 

In  his  school  experiences,  also,  Milton  appears  to  have  been,  upon  the  whole,  foitunate.  Mr. 
Gill,  the  head-master  of  St.  Paul’s  in  his  time,  was  a  man  competent  in  most  respects  to  his  voca¬ 
tion,  and  he  had  a  son  with  him  as  an  assistant  during  a  part  of  Milton’s  schoolboy  days,  with 
whom  the  young  poet  formed  a  rather  strong  friendship.  Young  Gill,  indeed,  was  hardly  the  man 


1  Defeuaio  Secunda. 


3  Ad  Patrem.  Masson’s  Milton ,  p.  67. 


X 


THE  LIFE  OF  .JOHN  MILTON. 


we  should  have  expected  Milton  to  have  sought  as  a  friend.  He  had  nothing  of  the  stately  deco¬ 
rum  of  the  pedagogue  about  him.  His  brusque  and  rash  ways  did  not  minister  to  his  father’s 
comfort  or  to  his  own;  but  he  was  some  ten  years  older  than  Milton,  was  a  good  classic,  had 
printed  Latin  and  Greek  verses,  and  made  his  intercourse  with  the  youth  from  Bread  Street  so  profi¬ 
table  to  him  that  Milton  was  constrained  to  speak  of  it  in  after  years  with  much  gratitude.  Many 
an  attempt  in  verse,  we  can  suppose,  was  submitted  by  him  to  the  judgment  of  his  senior  friend, 
and  assistance  obtained  in  many  a  difficulty  in  his  general  studies. 

On  the  12th  of  February,  1625,  Milton  entered  Christ’s  College,  Cambridge,  as  a  “lesser  pen¬ 
sioner,”  which  was  a  middle  position  between  that  of  a  “  fellow  commoner,”  who  paid  the  most, 
and  that  of  a  “sizer,’’  who  paid  the  least.  All  received  the  same  education,  but  the  difference  in 
paymeut  secured  a  difference  in  domestic  privileges.  The  students  and  officials  of  Christ’s  Col¬ 
lege  at  that  time,  when  all  were  assembled,  numbered  about  two  hundred  and  fifty;  the  students 
in  the  university  were  nearly  three  thousand.  In  Christ’s  College,  the  most  remarkable  man  was 
Joseph  Meade,  fellow  and  tutor,  well  known  to  divines  by  his  Clavis  Apocalyptica  and  his  studies 
in  that  direction;  and  now  better  known  to  the  students  of  English  history  by  his  letters,  full  of 
the  news  and  gossip  of  the  hour.  Many  of  those  letters  have  been  recently  printed.  Meade  was 
wont  to  to  say  freely,  “  I  like  to  know  how  the  world  goes  ;  ”  and  fortunately  for  those  who  came 
within  his  reach,  his  genial  nature  prompted  him  to  communicate  readily  the  intelligence  which  he 
had  been  so  eager  to  acquire.  He  must,  in  fact,  have  been  the  newspaper  of  his  college;  and  if 
any  man  there  was  very  ignorant  of  what  was  passing  in  Parliament,  Court,  or  Country,  the  blame 
must  have  been  his  own.  Milton,  we  may  be  sure,  would  not  have  been  thus  at  fault.  The  next 
man  of  mark  in  Christ’s  College  was  William  Chappell,  also  fellow  and  tutor,  and,  for  a  time 
Milton’s  tutor.  Chappell  could  dispute  in  Latin,  after  the  old  scholastic  fashion  still  in  vogue, 
with  much  keenness  and  readiness.  But  he  was  of  the  school  of  Laud  in  ecclesiastical  affairs, 
and  does  uot  seem  to  have  possessed  the  sort  of  power  necessary  to  impress  capable  and  indepen¬ 
dent  minds.1 

Milton’s  connection  with  Cambridge  extended  through  seven  years,  from  1625,  when  in  the 
seventeenth  year  of  his  age,  to  1632,  when  in  his  twenty-third  year.  In  respect  to  public  affairs 
those  years  were  memorable.  James  1.  had  breathed  his  last.  Charles  had  prosecuted  his  struggle 
with  his  Parliament,  and  had  at  length  resolved  on  the  perilous  experiment  of  attempting  to  rule 
England  without  convening  any  such  assemblies.  The  war  with  France  had  been  added  to  the 
war  with  Spain;  and  both,  after  becoming  the  cause  of  much  disorder  and  suffering  through  the 
country,  had  reached  a  disgraceful  close.  The  Duke  of  Buckingham  had  been  cut  off  by  the  dag¬ 
ger  of  Felton,  and  the  government  came  to  rest  in  the  hands  of  Charles  and  Laud.  The  names  of 
the  popular  leaders  in  the  Commons— the  Eliots,  the  Cokes,  and  the  Seldens,  had  been  ringing  in 
the  ears  of  the  country,  and  the  harsh  treatment  to  which  men  of  that  order  were  subjected,  had 
called  forth  comments  of  all  kinds,  in  all  places.  The  stronger  men  among  the  Parliamentarians 
muttered  their  prophesy  that  affairs  would  be  worse  and  then  better.  It  was  a  matter  of  grateful 
recollection  to  such  men  that  the  Petition  of  Right  had  its  place  on  our  statute-book, "constituting 
as  it  did  a  signal  landmark  in  our  constitutional  history. 

The  events  of  this  interval  in  Cambridge  were  not  of  a  remarkable  description.  The  election 
of  Buckingham  to  the  office  of  Chancellor,  in  obedience  to  the  pleasure  of  the  king,  filled  one- 


1  Mit  ford— Masson.  See  many  of  Meade’s  letters,  as  published  by  Ellis;  and  frequent  citations  from  those  in  MS. 
in  the  third  volume  of  Revolutions  in  English  History. 


e 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


xi 


half  of  the  university  with  a  sense  of  humiliation,  and  prompted  the  other  half  to  acts  of  syco- 
phancy  which  verged  not  a  little  upon  the  ludicrous.  Then,  some  while  after,  came  the  installa¬ 
tion  of  his  Grace,  with  all  the  honours  and  flatteries  deemed  suitable  to  the  occasion.  Subse¬ 
quently  the  king  and  queen  favoured  the  university  with  their  presence,  and  a  hectic  flush  of 
loyalty  attended  the  event,  which  deceived  no  one  who  could  look  beneath  the  surface. 

The  course  of  study  while  Milton  was  at  Cambridge,  was  still  in  process  of  transition  from  the 
old  middle-age  form  towards  that  which  has  since  obtained.  The  fame  of  the  university  in  its 
study  of  mathematics  was  wholly  to  come.  Not  until  some  thirty  years  after  Milton  had  left  was 
a  chair  separated  to  that  science.  The  elements  of  geometry,  indeed,  were  not  entirely  over¬ 
looked,  but  the  first  rank  was  assigned  to  philology,  theology,  and  philosophy— the  latter  term 
having  respect  mainly  to  logic  and  metaphysics.  Lectures  were  delivered  by  university  pro¬ 
fessors,  which  the  students  of  the  various  colleges  were  expected,  more  or  less,  to  attend.  The 
tutorial  work  in  each  college,  though  systematically  carried  on,  had  not  then  superseded  the  uni¬ 
versity  professor,  as  in  later  times.  In  every  college  the  students  were  separated  into  sections, 
and  were  placed  in  connection  with  different  tutors.  The  comparative  merits  of  the  students  was 
ascertained,  not  by  the  kind  of  examination  now  usual,  but  by  the  set  disputations  carried  on  in 
Latin  in  the  college  chapel.  Such  disputations,  coming  to  the  turn  of  each  man  but  rarely,  to¬ 
gether  witli  readings  with  the  tutor,  and  private  reading,  made  up  the  routine  from  which  a  univer¬ 
sity  education  was  to  be  realised.1 

We  should  conclude,  without  any  direct  testimony  on  the  subject,  that  Milton  acquitted  him¬ 
self  creditably  in  his  class  with  his  tutors,  that  he  took  his  full  share  in  the  chapel  disputations, 
and  that  he  was  not  negligent  of  private  reading.  We  know  more,  however,  from  authentic 
sources,  on  this  subject,  than  we  should  have  felt  at  liberty  to  suppose,  apart  from  such  evidence. 
His  nephew  Philips  says,  that  “  for  the  extraordinary  wit 2  and  reading  he  had  shown  in  his  per¬ 
formances  to  attain  his  degree,”  he  was  “  loved  and  admired  by  the  whole  university,  particularly 
by  the  fellows,  and  the  most  ingenious  persons  of  his  house.”  Aubrey  states  that  “  he  was  a  very 
hard  student  in  the  university,  and  performed  all  the  exercises  there  with  very  great  applause.” 
Wood  is  still  more  emphatic,  stating  that  as  during  his  school-days,  three  y  ears  before,  so  at  col¬ 
lege,  “  ’twas  usual  with  him  to  sit  up  till  midnight  at  his  book,  which  was  the  first  thing  that 
brought  his  eyes  into  the  danger  of  blindness;  ”  that  “  he  profited  exceedingly  by  his  indefatigable 
study",  and  performed  his  collegiate  and  academical  exercises  to  the  admiration  of  all,  and  was 
accounted  to  be  a  virtuous  and  sober  person,  yet  not  to  be  ignorant  of  his  own  parts.”  In  1642,  one 
of  his  assailants  described  him  as  having  spent  a  riotous  youth  at  the  university,  and  as  having- 
been  at  length  “vomited  thence.”  To  which  Milton  replies,  “for  which  commodious  lie,  that  he 
may  be  encouraged  in  the  trade  another  time,  I  thank  him;  for  it  has  given  me  an  apt  occasion  to 
acknowledge  publicly,  with  all  grateful  mind,  that  more  than  ordinary"  respect  which  I  found, 
above  any  of  my"  equals,  at  the  hands  of  those  courteous  and  learned  men,  the  fellows  of  that 
college  wherein  I  spent  some  years,  who,  at  myT  parting,  after  I  had  taken  two  degrees,  as  the  man¬ 
ner  is,  signified,  in  many  ways,  how  much  better  it  would  content  them  that  I  should  stay,  as  by 
many"  letters,  full  of  kindness  and  loving  respects,  both  before  that  time  and  long  alter,  I  was 
assured  of  their  singular  good  affection  towards  me 3  It  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  these  state- 


1  Masson's  Life  of  Milton. 

2  This  word  was  used  at  the  time  in  the  sense  of  capacity  or  genius. 


3  Apology  for  Smectymnuus. 


Xll 


TBE  LI  EE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


raents  wore  published  within  ten  years  after  Iiis  leaving  Cambridge,  when  the  men  who  might  have 
refuted  them,  had  they  been  untrue,  were  most  of  them  living. 

The  time  was  to  come  in  which  Milton  was  to  side  publicly  with  the  Parliament,  and  to  plead 
for  great  changes  in  Church  and  State,  not  sparing  the  universities.  When  that  time  came,  noth¬ 
ing  would  be  more  natural  than  that  his  opponents  should  go  back  to  his  university  life;  and  if  that 
season,  so  rarely  faultless  in  the  case  of  any  man,  could  be  made  to  yield  any  bit  of  scandal,  not 
only  would  the  most  be  made  of  it,  but  much  more  would  be  grafted  upon  it.  Now  it  did  so  hap¬ 
pen  that  in  Milton’s  second  year  a  quarrel  took  place  between  him  and  his  tutor,  Chappell,  and  Dr. 
Bainbridge,  the  master,  was  obliged  to  interfere.  The  result,  it  seems,  was,  Milton  was  required  to 
absent  himself  for  a  season,  or  that  lie  chose  to  do  so.  But  the  absence  was  not  long.  It  occurred 
in  the  Lent  terra  of  1626,  and  it  did  not  occasion  the  loss  of  a  term.  When  Milton  returned, 
another  person,  named  Tovey,  became  his  tutor. 

But  on  these  facts  something  more  has  been  grounded.  Dr.  Johnson,  with  the  temper  charac¬ 
teristic  of  his  whole  criticism  on  Milton,  says,  “  There  is  reason  to  believe  that  Milton  was  re¬ 
garded  in  his  college  with  no  great  fondness.  That  he  obtained  no  fellowship  is  certain;  but  the 
unkindness  with  which  he  was  treated  was  not  merely  negative.  I  am  ashamed  to  relate  what  I 
fear  is  true,  that  Milton  was  one  of  the  last  students  in  either  university  that  suffered  the  public 
indignity  of  corporal  punishment.”  Now,  we  have  seen  that  nothing  could  be  more  untrue  than 
the  first  part  of  this  assumption— viz.,  that  Milton  experienced  a  general  unfriendliness  from  the 
men  of  his  college;  and  the  other  insinuation,  which  points  to  a  special  indignity  inflicted  upon 
him,  is,  in  our  judgment,  equally  without  foundation.  The  only  apparent  evidence  in  support  of 
this  imputation  is  in  one  of  Aubrey’s  manuscripts.  Writing  on  the  authority  of  Christopher 
Milton,  Aubrey  says  that  Milton  received  “some  unkindness”  from  the  hands  of  Chappell;  and  over 
the  word  “unkindness,”  the  words  “whipt  him,”  are  subsequently  interlined.  Whence  this  later 
account  comes  no  one  knows.  Beyond  a  doubt,  punishment  in  that  degrading  form  was  still  admin¬ 
istered  both  in  Cambridge  and  in  Oxford,  but  much  less  frequently  than  in  former  times,  and 
rarely  ever  in  the  case  of  youths  not  under  sixteen.  But  in  the  spring  of  1626  Milton  was  in  his 
eighteenth  year  !  Looking  at  the  case  altogether,  we  are  satisfied  that  we  have  here  one  of  the 
many  inventions  which  were  flung  at  a  writerwho  had  dared  to  assail,  and  with  a  bold  hand,  the 
prejudices  and  the  selfish  passions  of  the  generation  about  him.1 

We  have  abundant  evidence  that  the  early  life  of  Milton,  while  free  from  any  affectation  of 
purity  or  goodness,  as  from  affectations  of  all  kinds,  was  a  life  of  seriousness,  and  of  ehastitv  in  a 
high  sense  of  that  word.  But  his  seriousness  was  a  manly  seriousness;  it  had  no  tincture  of 
gloom,  nothing  of  narrowness.  His  chastity,  too,  was  not  only  a  fact,  but  a  fact  sustained,  in  his 


’  “Dr.  Johnson,  who  was  meanly  anxious  to  revive  this  slander  against  Milton,  as  well  as  some  others,  had 
supposed  Milton  himself  to  have  this  flagellation  in  his  miud,  and  indirectly  to  confess  it,  in  one  of  his  Latin  poems, 
where,  speaking  of  Cambridge,  and  declaring  that  he  no  longer  had  any  pleasure  in  the  thought  of  re-visiting  that 
university,  he  says — 

‘  Nec  duri  libet  usque  minus  preferre  magistris, 

Caeteraque  ingenio  non  subuenda  meo.’ 

This  last  line  the  malicious  critic  would  translate  ‘And  other  things  insufferable  to  a  man  of  my  temper.’  But  tn- 
genium  is  properly  expressive  of  the  intellectual  constitution,  whilst  it  is  the  moral  constitution  that  suffers  degredation 
from  personul  chastisement — the  sense  of  honor,  of  personal  dignity,  of  justice,  &c.  Indoles  is  the  proper  term  for 
this  latter  idea,  and  in  using  the  word  ingenium  there  cannot  be  a  doubt  that  Milton  alluded  to  the  dry  scholastic 
disputations,  which  were  shocking  and  odious  to  his  fine  poetical  genius.  If,  therefore,  the  vile  story  is  still  to  be 
kept  up  in  order  to  dishonor  a  great  man,  at  any  rate  let  it  not  in  future  be  pietcnded  that  any  countenance  to  such  a 
slander  can  be  drawn  from  the  confessions  of  the  poet  himself.”  De  Quincey,  IFerfoi,  xv.  317,  318;  Masson’s  L[fe  oj 
Mi1  ton. 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


xiu 


case,  by  views  which  even  pure  men  might  regard,  as  too  ideal  and  mystical  to  be  adapted  to  a 
world  like  ours.  In  his  estimation,  failure  in  that  virtue  was  more  culpable  in  man  than  in 
woman,  as  betraying  weakness  in  the  nature  that  should  be  the  stronger  and  the  nobler.  His  lines 
on  Hobson  the  carrier  show  that  he  was  not  without  his  seasons  of  playful  humour;  and  his  letter 
to  his  friend  Diodati,  in  the  spring  of  162(5,  shows  that  while  in  London  he  sometimes  went  to  see 
what  was  doing  in  the  theatres.  At  a  later  time,  indeed,  being  accused  by  some  of  his  clerical 
opponents  of  writing  like  a  person  who  had  been  too  familiar. with  the  play-house,  he  deemed  it 
well  to  bid  his  censors  look  at  home,  in  the  following  terms:  “  But  since  there  is  such  necessity 
in  the  hearsay  of  a  tira,  a  periwig,  or  a  vizard,  that  plays  must  have  been  seen,  what  difficulty 
was  there  in  that,  when,  in  the  college,  so  many  of  the  young  divines,  and  those  of  next  aptitude 
to  divinity,  have  been  seen  so  often  upon  the  stage,  writhing  and  unboning  their  clerical  limbs  to 
all  the  antic  and  dishonest  gestures  of  Trinculoes,  buffoons,  and  bawds,  prostituting  the  shame  of 
that  ministry,  which  either  they  had,  or  were  nigh  having,  to  the  eyes  of  the  courtiers  and  court 
ladies,  with  their  grooms  and  mademoiselles?  There,  while  they  acted  and  over-acted,  among 
other  young  scholars,  I  was  a  spectator:  they  thought  themselves  gallant  men,  and  I  thought  them 
fools;  they  made  sport,  and  I  laughed;  they  mispronounced,  and  I  misliked;  and  to  make  up  the 
Atticism,  they  were  out,  and  I  hissed.”1  The  reference  here  seems  to  be,  to  the  great  perform¬ 
ance  before  the  king  and  queen  in  Cambridge  in  1629.  The  description  indicates  the  kind  of  taste 
which  Milton  would  have  exacted  from  the  drama;  and  it  gives  us  a  glimpse  of  the  young  Milton 
of  Christ’s,  as  he  joins,  “  with  other  young  scholars,”  in  showing  his  contempt  of  the  blundering 
performance,  until,  at  last,  he  hisses  them  outright. 

In  fact,  though  Milton  declined  the  priestly  function  in  the  English  Church,  he  was  not,  in  his 
own  conception,  the  less  a  priest  on  that  account.  The  priesthood  to  which  he  aspired  was  the 
bardic  priesthood.  The  inspiration  he  sought  was  that  which  had  come  upon  the  old  prophets — 
an  inspiration  which  might  come  upon  them  as  laymen,  but  which  raised  them  to  a  level  with  the 
most  sacred  themes.  In  his  apprehension,  a  poet  of  the  order  which  he  hoped  to  become,  should 
be,  must  be,  a  consecrated  man.  The  singer  of  Bacchanalian  songs  may  be  himself  Bacchanalian; 
but  a  poet  who  would  ascend  to  things  celestial  must  not  be  of  the  earth,  earthy.  The  evil  insep¬ 
arable  from  our  nature  may  qualify  him  to  depict  evil;  but  if  he  is  to  make  men  feel  how  awful 
goodness  is,  he  must  have  striven  hard  towards  those  higher  regions  of  being  where  goodness 
rules.  In  all  art,  the  truly  religious  element  must  come  from  religious  men.  Genius  without 
sanctity  may  touch  the  ark,  but  it  will  be  but  to  profane  it.  However  much  at  home  in  other 
regions,  if  the  special  faculty  for  this  region  be  wanting,  success  will  be  wanting.  In  art  as  in 
religion,  the  natural  man  does  not  discern  spiritual  things 

The  current  doctrine  is,  that  men  of  poetical  and  artistical  power  will  always  be  very  much 
the  creatures  of  imagination  and  sensibility,  and,  in  consequence,  will  be  subject  to  alternations  of 
elevation  or  depression  in  the  most  capricious  forms — even  their  morals  and  religion  being  subject 
to  these  laws  in  their  nature,  or,  rather,  to  this  absence  of  law.  The  life  of  Milton  is  not  the  only 
life  of  its  class  which  belies  this  foolish  and  mischievous  doctrine.  He  not  only  felt  its  fallacy, 
but  that  feeling  became  a  profound  conviction,  governing  his  whole  life.  By  reflection  on  this 
matter,  he  writes,  “  I  was  confirmed  in  this  opinion,  that  he  who  would  not  be  frustrate  of  his  hope 
to  write  well  hereafter  in  laudable  things,  ought  himself  to  be  a  true  poem— that  is,  a  compo¬ 
sition  and  pattern  of  the  best  and  houourablest  things;  not  presuming  to  sing  high  praises 


1  Apology  for  Smectymnuua. 


XIV 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


of  heroic  men  or  famous  cities,  unless  he  have  in  himself  the  experience  and  the  practice  of  all 
that  is  praiseworthy.”  1 

What  marvel  if  a  young  mind  in  Cambridge,  with  thoughts  of  this  nature  struggling  to  get 
form  and  fixedness,  should  have  been  to  a  great  extent,  a  mind  dwelling  apart?  What  marvel 
if  such  a  youth  is  found  to  lament  the  all  but  total  absence  of  persons  with  conceptions  or 
sympathies  at  all  of  this  order  among  those  who  were  about  him?5  That  the  collapse  and  reserve 
following  from  such  a  sense  of  isolation  should  have  been  construed  as  the  evidence  of  a  haughty 
temper,  and  of  undue  self-esteem,  was  no  more  than  might  have  been  expected.  In  some  con¬ 
nections,  to  make  men  enemies,  you  have  only  to  allow  them  to  suspect  that  you  deem  them 
inferiors.  It  is  clear  that  from  these  causes  Milton  suffered  during  the  early  days  of  his  college 
course.  Something  of  haughtiness  there  probably  was  in  his  manner,  but  much  that  had  that 
appearance  came  from  another  source.  His  self-esteem,  too,  was  considerable;  but  it  was  calm, 
intelligent,  and  such  as  his  intelligence  would  not  have  allowed  him  to  throw  off-,  even  if  he  had 
endeavoured  to  do  so.  His  superiority  was  a  fact,  and  it  would  have  been  affectation  in  him  to 
have  seemed  to  be  unconscious  of  it.  Every  one  has  heard  that  from  his  fair  complexion,  and  the 
beauty  of  his  features,  he  sometimes  went  by  the  name  of  the  “  lady  of  Christ’s.”  But  it  was 
well  known  that  he  was  a  good  swordsman;  and  Wood  says,  “  His  deportment  was  affable,  his  gait 
erect  and  manly,  bespeaking  courage  and  undauntedness.” 

Milton  must  have  commenced  the  study  of  Hebrew  when  very  young.  The  earliest  poetry 
that  has  reached  us  from  his  pen  consists  of  his  paraphrases  on  the  114th  and  136th  Psalms. 
Those  attempts,  he  tells  us,  were  made  in  his  fifteenth  year.  There  is  a  stately  and  vigorous  tone 
in  them  of  the  kind  which  was  to  be  characteristic  of  his  later  writings.  His  next  poetical  com¬ 
position  known  to  us  dates  nearly  a  year  after  his  connection  with  Cambridge.  It  is  a  poem 
entitled  “  On  the  Death  of  a  Fair  Infant  ”  The  infant  was  ihe  child  of  his  sister  Fhilips.  The 
verses  exhibit  a  rich  play  of  fancy,  and  are  full  of  conceptions  and  expressions  which  only  a  true 
poet  would  have  been  able  to  command.  The  “  Vacation  Exercise,”  which  stands  next  in  order, 
was  written  some  twelve  months  later,  and  is  chiefly  interesting  as  showing  how  the  young  poet 
could  manipulate  the  dry  logic  of  the  schools,  when  disposed  to  exercise  his  skill  on  such 
subjects.  The  hymn  which  followed,  “  On  the  Morning  of  Christ’s  Nativity,”  is  of  another  order. 
It  is  a  glorious  utterance,  worthy  of  its  subject.  In  the  judgment  of  Mr.  Hallam,  it  may,  perhaps, 
be  said  to  be  the  most  beautiful  hymn  in  our  language.  It  was  produced  for  the  Christmas  of 
1629.  Immediately  afterwards  the  pieces  on  the  “  Circumcision  ”  and  the  “  Passion  ”  were  written ; 
but  at  the  eighth  verse  of  the  piece  last  named,  the  poet  stayed  his  hand,  and  at  a  later  time 
subjoined  the  following  statement  of  his  reason  torso  doing:  “  This  subject  the  author  finding 
to  be  above  the  years  he  then  had  when  he  wrote  it,  and  nothing  satisfied  with  what  was  begun, 
left  unfinished.”  Critics  have  regarded  this  judgment  as  a  sound  one.  His  sixteen  lines  “  On 
Shakespeare  ”  are  supposed  to  have  been  written  on  a  blank  leaf  of  a  copy  of  the  works  of  the 
great  dramatist,  probably  on  a  copy  of  the  first  folio  edition.  In  1632  we  find  them,  with  other 


1  Apology  for  Smectymnu'is. 

*  It  is  thus  he  writes  after  about  two  years’  residence  in  college:  “  Truly  among  us  here,  as  far  as  I  know,  there 
are  hardly  one  or  two,  here  and  there,  who  do  not  fly  off  unfeathered  in  theology,  while  all  but  rude  and  uneducated 
in  philology,  as  well  as  in  philosophy,  content  to  lightly  pick  upas  much  theology  as  may  suffice  for  anyhow  sticking 
together  a  little  sermon,  and  stitching  it  over  with  worn  rags  from  other  quarters.”  letter  to  Alexander  Gill ,  July  2, 
1028;  Masson’s  Life  of  Muton,  164-5.  This  discontent  with  the  men.  and  a  discontent,  no  less  marked,  with  the 
routine  of  the  place,  was  not  a  mood  likely  to  make  many  friends;  yet  who  can  wonder  at  the  feeling  f 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


xv 


verses  of  the  same  kind,  prefixed  to  the  second  edition  of  that  collection,  hut  they  are  printed 
anonymously.  The  fact,  however,  of  their  appearing  there  is  interesting,  from  their  being  the 
first  lines  of  Milton  that,  so  far  as  we  know,  had  then  found  their  way  into  print  at  all.  The  piece, 
from  about  the  same  time,  on  listening  to  “  Solemn  Music,”  is  quite  Miltonic  in  its  cast:— 

That  undisturbed  song  of  pure  content, 

Aye  sung  before  the  saphire-coloured  throne, 

To  Him  who  sits  thereon, 

With  saintly  shout  and  solemn  jubilee: 

Where  the  bright  seraphims  in  burning  row, 

And  the  cherub  host  in  thousand  quires, 

Touch  their  immortal  harps  of  golden  wires, 

With  those  just  saints  that  wear  victorious  palms, 

Hymns  devout  and  holy  psalms, 

Sing  everlastingly. 

The  Marchioness  of  Winchester  was  a  lady  of  great  beauty,  beloved  for  her  benevolence,  and 
reverenced  for  her  extraordinary  endowments.  An  inflammation,  which  passed  from  her  face  to 
her  throat,  carried  her  off  almost  suddenly,  and  while  in  a  state  of  pregnancy.  Her  death  was 
widely  and  deeply  deplored,  and  called  forth  poetical  tributes  to  her  memory  from  Ben  Jonson, 
Davenant,  and  some  other  well-known  names.  Milton  also  brought  his  lament,  under  the  title  of 
“  An  Epitaph  on  the  Marchioness  of  Winchester.”  Of  this  production  it  will  be  enough  to  say, 
that  the  young  poet  of  Christ’s  did  not  suffer  from  being  brought  into  comparison  on  this  occasion 
with  the  veterans  in  his  art.  We  only  need  direct  the  attention  of  the  reader  to  the  sonnet  on 
his  reaching  “  The  age  of  twenty-three,”  to  his  lines  on  “Time,”  and  to  those  on  Hobson,  the 
“  University  Carrier,”  to  complete  our  account  of  the  known  English  poetry  of  Milton  during  his 
seven  years  of  residence  at  Cambridge. 

But  Milton’s  poetry  in  Latin  during  his  student  years  was  not  inconsiderable.  No  fragment 
of  it,  however,  passed  into  print  during  that  period;  and  it  has  been  generally  accepted  as 
evidence  of  his  scholarship,  rather  than  as  presenting  a  fitting  vehicle  for  the  action  of  his  genius 
as  a  poet. 

If  Milton  was  dissatisfied  with  the  aids  to  culture  which  he  found  in  Cambridge,  it  should  be 
remembered  that  Gibbon  was  much  more  dissatisfied  with  Oxford  on  that  ground  a  century  later, 
and  a  man  like  the  poet  Wordsworth  may  be  found  expressing  himself  somewhat  after  the  same 
manner  even  in  our  time.  But  the  truth  is,  in  the  best  colleges  and  in  the  best  times,  the  man 
who  gets  no  more  education  than  tutorial  oversight  and  help  may  secure  to  him  will  get  very 

little.  Milton,  no  doubt,  owed  something  to  his  tutor  Tovey;  but  more,  immensely  more,  to  that 

\ 

wider  tutoring  of  society  and  of  books  which  gave  its  influence  to  the  voluntary  action  of  his 
nature.  The  things  which  grow  in  the  soul  are  things  more  or  less  native  to  it.  To  educate  the 
mind  is  to  draw  out  its  power,  and  the  power  must  be  there,  or  it  cannot  be  educed.  All  gifted 
minds  have  been  conscious  of  this  fact  It  was  thus  eminently  with  the  man  who  was  to  become 
the  author  of  “  Paradise  Lost.” 

Milton  did  not  seem  to  be  in  haste  to  decide  on  his  walk  in  life.  His  course  was  so  appar¬ 
ently  aimless,  down  even  to  the  last  year  of  his  time  in  Cambridge,  that  a  friend,  to  whose 
judgment  he  owed  some  deference,  appears  to  have  expostulated  with  him  on  that  ground.  In  a 
carefully-written  letter  he  attempts  to  vindicate  himself.  He  denies  being  governed  by  a  mere 
love  of  learning  Were  he  influenced  by  no  stronger  motive,  there  were  considerations,  such  as 
the  desire  of  “  home  and  family,”  or  of  “  honour  and  repute,”  that  would  soon  overpower  that  mo. 
tive.  But  the  love  of  learning  being  good  in  itself,  may  beget  such  a  reverence  of  what  should  be 


THE  LIFE  OF  .JOHN  MILTON. 


xvi 

(lone  with  it  as  to  dispose  a  man  to  hazard  the  charge  of  being  late  in  the  field,  rather  than  incur 
the  reproach  of  appearing  there  not  duly  equipt.  He  then  transcribes  for  his  friend  the  sonnet  he 
had  written,  when  arrived  at  the  aye  of  twenty -three,  as  evidence  that  he  had  not  been  without  thought 
on  this  subject.  The  friend  so  addressed  evidently  hoped  to  see  him  a  parish  priest.  Milton  does 
not  express,  on  this  occasion,  any  conscientious  objection  to  becoming  a  clergyman— as  a  Cam¬ 
bridge  student,  and  as  Cambridge  was  then  governed,  it  was  not  likely  that  he  would  do  so.  AVe 
have  good  reason  to  think  that  he  felt  scruples  on  that  point  even  then.  But  he  had  enough  to 
urge  in  self-defence,  without  touching  upon  matters  which  Laud  and  his  instruments  were  doing 
their  best  to  punish  as  crimes.  Ten  years  later  he  had  cast  aside  all  such  reticence,  ne  then 
says,  as  we  have  seen,  that  by  his  parents  and  friends  he  was  destined,  “of  a  child,”  to  the  church, 
and  that  his  own  inclination  tended  that  way,  “  till  coming  to  some  maturity  of  years,  and  perceiv¬ 
ing  what  tyranny  had  invaded  the  church,”  he  saw  clearly  “  that  he  who  would  take  orders  must 
subscribe  slave,  and  take  an  oath  withal,  which  unless  he  took  with  a  conscience  that  would  retch, 
he  must  straight  perjure  himself,  or  split  his  faith.”  He  thought  it  good,  therefore,  “to  prefer  a 
blameless  silence,  before  the  sacred  olfice  of  speaking,  bought  and  began  with  servitude  and  for¬ 
swearing.”  lie  speaks  of  himself,  accordingly,  as  a  man  “  Church-ousted  by  the  prelates,”  and  as 
possessing  a  right,  in  return  to  criticise  both  the  church  and  her  rulers.' 

Milton,  we  have  reason  to  think,  had  his  moments  in  which  he  thought  of  giving  himself  to  the 
law.  But  his  writings  in  prose  and  verse,  before  leaviug  Cambridge,  gave  his  friends  the  impres¬ 
sion  that  he  had  a  vocation  to  write  poetry  that  would  live;  and  such  was,  no  doubt,  the  dream  of 
his  own  spirit,  when  in  his  higher  moods.  To  this  idea  he  endeavoured,  by  degrees,  to  reconcile  the 
more  conventional  sagacity  of  his  worthy  father.  He  reminded  him  of  his  own  passion  for  music — 
what  marvel  if  the  son  of  such  a  father  should  have  a  passion  for  poetry  ?  It  was  painful  for  him 
to  disappoint  the  hopes  of  one  so  well  entitled  to  his  reverence  and  atlectiou;  but  in  his  estima¬ 
tion,  the  silver  mines  of  Peru  were  of  small  value  compared  with  the  power  to  produce  immortal 
verse.  His  father,  in  his  generous  wisdom,  had  aided  him  in  realising  capacity  and  passion  in  that 
form,  and  must  bear  with  him  in  obeying  this  current  of  his  nature.’  In  this  mood  Milton  left 
Cambridge. 

By  that  time  the  scrivener  had  relinquished  business,  and  had  settled  in  the  village  of  Horton, 
in  Buckinghamshire,  with  the  intention,  apparently,  of  passing  the  evening  of  his  days  in  that 
retreat.  How  it  went  with  the  sou  in  the  next  five  years  of  his  life,  he  has  himself  stated  in  few 
words.  “At  my  father’s  country  residence,”  he  says,  “  whither  he  had  retired  to  pass  his  old  age, 
l,  with  every  advantage  of  leisure,  spent  a  complete  holiday  in  turning  over  the  Greek  and  Latin 
writers;  not  but  that  sometimes  I  exchanged  the  country  for  the  town,  either  for  the  purpose  of 
buying  books  or  for  that  of  learning  something  new  in  mathematics  or  in  music,  in  which  sciences 
1  then  delighted  ”s  During  those  five  years  Milton  wrote  his  sonnet  on  the  Nightingale,  the  Allegro 
and  Pknseroso,  the  Arcades,  and  Comus,  and  Lycidas.  The  Nightingale  is  founded  on  the  bit  of  rural 
credulity  which  supposed  that  to  hear  the  note  of  that  bird  in  spring  before  the  cuckoo  was  a  sign 
of  success  in  love.  Concerning  the  Allegro  and  Penseroso,  we  only  need  repeat  that  they  have  their 
place  in  the  first  rank  of  our  idyllic  poetry.  The  Arcades  is  an  incomplete  production;  the  omitted 
portion  was  probably  in  prose.  Harefield,  the  seat  of  that  distinguished  lady,  the  Countess  Dow¬ 
ager  of  Derby,  where  this  dramatic  poem  was  presented,  was  only  a  few  miles  distant  from  Hor¬ 
ton.  Hut  we  have  no  reason  to  suppose  that  Milton  was  known  to  the  family.  It  is  probable  that 


1  The  Reason  of  Self- Government. 


*  Ad  Pattern. 


*  Defen  si  o  Secunda. 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


xvn 


tlie  lines  were  written  at  the  request  of  his  musical  friend,  Henry  Lawes.  To  a  request  from  that 
quarter  we  no  doubt  owe  the  origin  of  Comas,  of  which  we  shall  speak  elsewhere. 

It  was  during  his  residence  at  Horton  that  Milton  was  incorporated  as  a  member  of  the 
University  of  Oxford.  In  those  days,  the  standing  of  a  scholar  in  one  university  might  thus 
give  him  a  place  in  the  other.  Oxford  was  much  more  accessible  from  Horton  than  Cambridge. 

It  was  at  Horton,  too,  and  in  this  interval,  that  Milton  lost  “his  most  excellent  mother.”  She 
lies  buried  in  the  chancel  of  the  parish  church.  By  the  side  of  that  grave  Milton  must  have 
stood,  and  have  shed  his  tear  with  his  mourning  father,  his  sister,  and  his  brother,  as  they  listened 
to  the  earth  falling  on  that  coffin,  and  looked  their  last  look  into  that  narrow  house  to  which  all 
come  in  their  allotted  time. 

It  was  also  towai’ds  the  close  of  these  five  years  at  Horton,  that  Edward  King,  of  Christ’s 
College,  the  friend  of  Milton,  perished  in  the  St.  George’s  Channel,  an  event  which  called  forth 
from  the  poet  the  monody  under  the  name  of  Lycidas.  The  gifted  man  whose  life  thus  closed 
in  the  twenty-fifth  year  of  his  age,  was  looking  towards  the  ministry  of  the  church;  and  Milton 
glances  at  this  fact  so  as  to  indicate,  as  clearly  as  was  then  safe,  his  own  malcontent  feeling  in 
relation  to  the  ecclesiastical  establishment,  and  his  expectation  of  a  coming  retribution  in  that 
quarter.  When  this  monody  was  reprinted,  in  1645,  the  author  could  dare  to  proclaim  his  whole 
meaning,  and  he  accordingly  placed  the  following  sentence  at  the  head  of  the  poem:  “In  this 
monody,  the  author  bewails  a  lost  friend,  unfortunately  drowned  in  his  passage  from  Chester,  in 
the  Irish  seas,  1637;  and  by  occasion  foretels  the  rain  of  our  corrupted  clergy ,  then  in  their  height." 
But  an  interval  was  still  to  pass  before  this  prophesy  would  be  realized. 

We  have  two  letters  written  by  Milton  about  this  time,  to  his  friend  Diodati,  which  give  us 
some  insight  into  his  habits  and  inner  life.  He  assures  his  friend  that  he  is  a  slow  man  in  letter- 
writing.  Another  cause  of  his  seeming  negligence  as  a  correspondent  consisted  in  his  inability  to 
mingle  work  and  play.  In  his  case,  geuei’ally,  to  be  committed  to  a  tiling  was  to  be  committed 
to  it  without  interruption  until  done,  or  until  he  should  come  to  some  natural  resting-place.  In 
some  respects  he  will  not  venture  to  say  what  God  may  or  may  not  have  conferred  upon  him;  but 
one  gift,  at  least,  has  been  instilled  into  him — viz.,  a  fervent  love  of  the  beautiful,  and  a  passion  to 
seek  it  wherever  it  may  be  fouud.  To  a  commerce  with  such  things  he  must  aspire  ;  and  if  he 
should  not  do  so  with  a  success  commensurate  with  his  hopes,  his  next  effort  should  be  to  do  fitting 
homage  to  those  who  have  been  more  fortunate.  He  confesses  that  in  this  spirit  he  is  pluming 
his  wings,  moving  slowly,  but,  as  he  hopes,  wisely.  It  must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  he 
has  no  thought  of  the  practical.  Far  from  it.  He  has  some  notion  of  taking  chambers  in  one  of 
the  Inns  of  Court;  and  thinks  it  would  be  pleasant  to  see  liis  friends  there,  and  to  saunter  with 
them,  on  summer  evenings,  in  the  neighbouring  walks.1 

We  have  no  reason  to  suppose  that  this  last  thought  was  ever  acted  upon.  Another  idea 
took  much  stronger  possession  of  his  mind  about  this  time.  His  studies  had  filled  his  imagina¬ 
tion  with  visions  of  the  past,  associated  with  the  Alps,  the  land  of  the  Apennines,  and  the  regions 
beyond.  How  natural  that  he  shohld  wish  to  traverse  those  countries,  to  tread  the  old  pathways 
in  their  ancient  cities,  and  to  gaze  on  the  monumental  wonders  still  to  be  seen  there.  The  failing 
health  of  his  mother  may  have  constrained  him  to  check  this  desire  hitherto;  and  the  fact  that 
since  her  decease  his  brother  Christopher  had  married,  and  had  come  to  reside  with  his  father, 


‘Masson’s  Milton,  pp.  597-601. 


xviii  THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 

may  have  seemed  to  say  that  the  fitting  time  had  now  come.  The  cost  of  his  project  would  be 
considerable,  as  it  was  his  intention  to  travel  as  a  gentleman,  with  his  own  servant.  His  affec¬ 
tionate  father,  we  may  suppose,  felt  less  hesitation  on  that  ground  than  on  some  others.  But  his 
consent  was  given,  and  in  May,  1638,  Milton  crossed  the  channel,  on  his  way  to  Paris.  He  had 
been  careful  to  obtain  good  introductions.  One  of  these  came  from  his  distinguished  neighbour, 
Sir  Henry  Wotton,  Provost  of  Eton.  The  provost  had  lately  become  possessed  of  a  copy  of 
Comus,  as  printed  by  Henry  Lawes,  which  had  delighted  him  greatly.  He  had  also  conversed 
on  some  occasion  with  the  author,  and  assures  him  that  the  pleasure  of  that  interview  was  such  as 
to  have  led  him  to  hope  for  a  renewal  of  the  “  draught,”  by  inviting  him  to  “  a  poor  meal  or  two,” 
when  they  “  might  have  banded  together  some  good  authors.”  The  following  is  the  postscript  to 
an  epistle  from  the  courteous  old  provost: — “  Sir, — I  have  expressly  sent  this  my  footboy  to 
prevent  your  departure  without  some  acknowledgment  from  me  of  the  receipt  of  your  obliging 
letter,  having  myself,  through  some  business,  1  know  not  how  neglected  the  ordinary  conveyance. 
In  any  part  where  I  shall  understand  you  fixed,  1  shall  be  glad  and  diligent  to  entertain  you  with 
home  novelties;  ever  for  some  fomentation  of  our  friendship,  too  soon  interrupted  in  the  cradle.”  1 

On  his  arrival  at  Paris,  one  of  Milton  s  introductions  secured  him  the  friendly  notice  of  Lord 
Scudamore,  the  English  ambassador;  and  through  his  lordship's  personal  courtesy  the  young 
Englishman  was  introduced  to  the  learned  Hugo  Grotius,  then  ambassador  from  the  Queen  of 
Sweden  to  the  French  Court.  We  kuow  nothing  of  what  passed  at  this  interview,  except  that 
Grotius  is  said  to  have  taken  “  the  visit  kindly,”  and  to  have  given  his  visitor  “  entertainment 
suitable  to  his  worth  and  the  high  commendations  he  had  heard  of  him.”  4  But  Grotius  was  much 
occupied  at  that  time  with  a  dream  about  strengthening  Protestantism  by  uniting  the  Episco¬ 
palian  Churches  of  that  faith— in  England,  Sweden,  Denmark,  Norway — and  passing  by  all  other 
Protestants.  If  this  sorry  project  was  broached  to  Milton,  his  response,  we  may  be  sure,  would 
not  be  of  a  very  agreeable  description. 

Milton's  stay  in  Paris  was  fov  a  few  days  only.  From  Paris  he  journeyed  to  Nice;  thence  he 
sailed  to  Genoa,  and  thence  to  Leghorn.  From  Leghorn  his  route  was  through  Pisa  to  Florence. 
In  the  latter  city  he  remained  two  months.  Florence  was  then,  as  it  has  been  for  centuries,  the 
great  seat  of  Italian  culture.  Almost  every  street  had  its  academy  or  club,  consisting  of  the  vol¬ 
untary  associations  of  scholars,  poets,  artists,  and  men  of  science.  By  the  help  of  introductions 
obtained  in  England  or  Paris,  Milton  was  readily  admitted  into  some  of  the  most  distinguished  of 
these  fraternities.  To  the  enjoyment  of  this  privilege  it  tvas  necessary  that  some  composition 
from  his  pen  should  be  produced,  and  this  condition  was  complied  with  by  presenting'  some  of  the 
things  written  by  him  while  at  Cambridge,  or  others  written  for  the  purpose.  Being  able  to 
speak  both  Latin  and  Italian  with  correctness  and  fluency,  he  was  at  once  on  a  leA’el  with  his  new 
friends;  and  great,  it  would  seem,  was  the  pleasure  he  found  in  such  meetings.  'When  nobly 
pleading,  at  a  later  time,  for  the  liberty  of  the  press,  lie  says:  “  I  would  recount  w  hat  I  have  seen 
and  heard  in  other  countries  where  this  kind  of  inquisition  tyranises;  where  I  have  sat  among 
their  learned  men  — for  this  honour  1  had — and  been  counted  happy  to  be  born  in  such  a  place  of 
philosophic  tieedom  as  they  supposed  England  was,  while  themselves  did  nothing  but  bemoan  the 
servile  condition  into  wThich  learning  amongst  them  wras  brought;  that  this  was  it  which  had 
damped  the  glory  of  Italian  wits;  that  nothing  had  been  there  written,  now  these  many  years,  but 
flattery  and  fustian.”  In  the  company  of  persons  of  this  order,  Milton  was  admitted  to  the 


1  Reliqua  Wottoniana.  Printed  also  by  Milton,  in  his  edition  of  Comus ,  in  1645. 


■  Philips. 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


presence  and  discourse  of  the  great  philosopher  of  the  age.  “There,”  he  says,  “it  was  that  I 
found  and  visited  the  famous  Galileo,  grown  old,  a  prisoner  to  the  Inquisition,  for  thinking  in 
astronomy  otherwise  than  the  Franciscan  and  Dominican  licensers  thought.”  Milton  and  Galileo 
face  to  face  !  And  Galileo  in  the  state  to  which  the  younger  man  now  gazing  upon  him  will 
come — in  darkness,  blind  I  But,  for  the  present,  Milton  enjoys  the  light — the  light  of  the  Italian 
sky,  and,  when  day  has  fled,  the  light  which  gives  so  much  brilliancy  to  those  learned  gatherings, 
and  to  the  higher  circles  of  Florence.  For  it  is  evident  that  to  the  latter  Milton  had  admission, 
and  that  his  heart,  guarded  as  it  might  be,  was  not  wholly  proof  against  impression  from  the 
beauty  to  be  seen  in  those  circles.  Pieces  written  bv  Mm  in  Florence  will  be  found  among  his 
poems,  and  verses  composed  there  in  his  praise  have  come  down  to  us — verses  which,  if  they  do 
not  show  great  genius  in  the  writers,  show  clearly  enough  how  unusual  must  have  been  the  admi¬ 
ration  awakened  by  the  genius  of  Milton. 

From  Florence  Milton  took  his  course  towards  Eome,  by  way  of  Sienna.  In  Rome  he  soon 
made  the  acquaintance  of  Lucas  Holstenius,  the  keeper  of  the  Vatican  library,  and  with  little  or  no 
introduction.  Holstenius  had  studied  three  years  in  Oxford — a  fact  which  may  in  part  explain 
the  special  courtesy  which  Milton  remembered  so  gratefully.  But  his  courtesy  rose  into  admira¬ 
tion  as  he  began  to  discover  the  stores  of  learning  possessed  by  the  stranger,  and  as  he  felt  the 
potency  with  which  he  could  use  his  knowledge.'  So  moved  was  he  that  he  must  needs  sound 
the  praises  of  his  new  acquaintance  in  the  hearing  of  Cardinal  F.  Barbarini,  the  Pope’s  relative 
and  his  prime  minister.  A  few  days  later,  the  cardinal  gives  a  grand  concert,  and  among  the 
persons  invited  is  the  traveller  who  had  so  fascinated  Holstenius.  On  which  occasion,  says 
Milton,  the  cardinal,  waiting  at  the  door,  “  sought  me  out  in  so  great  a  crowd,  nay,  almost  laying 
a  hold  of  me  by  the  hand,  admitted  me  within,  in  a  manner  the  most  truly  honourable.”  All  this, 
he  tells  his  friend  Holstenius,  must  have  come  from  his  good  offices.  It  was  at  the  cardinal’s, 
probably,  that  Milton  heard  Leonora  sing— a  young  and  beautiful  woman,  whose  voice  and  science 
had  made  her  queen  in  her  department.  Milton  has  apprised  us  of  the  entranced  feeling  with 
which  he  listened  to  her  notes,  by  writing  no  less  than  three  epigrams  in  praise  of  her  skill.  Two 
Romans,  Joannes  Salsilus  and  Salvaggi — names  forgotten  in  our  time,  but  of  some  note  then— 
wrote  lines  on  Milton,  full  of  extravagant  eulogy;  and  the  former  was  so  far  esteemed  by  the  poet 
that  on  hearing  subsequently  of  his  illness,  Milton  addressed  lines  of  condolence  to  him  in  Latin 

verse. 

When  about  two  months  had  been  occupied  in  exploring  the  remains  of  ancient  Rome,  and  in 
this  sort  of  intercourse  with  its  modern  inhabitants,  Milton  set  his  face  towards  Naples.  On  his 
way  thither,  a  hermit  was  allowed  to  share  his  vehicle  with  him.  The  recluse  proved  to  be  a  man 
of  some  literary  culture,  and  being  charmed  by  the  traveller,  very  much  as  Holstenius  had  been 
before  him,  on  arriving  at  Naples,  he  must  see  that  a  person  of  so  much  worth  does  not  leave  the 
place  without  being  introduced  to  Manzo,  Marquis  of  Villa,  a  person  of  high  place  in  those  parts, 
and  the  patron  of  genius  everywhere.  Every  one  acquainted  with  the  sad  history  ot  Torquato 
Tasso  must  be  familiar  with  the  name  of  John  Baptist  Manzo,  his  steady  and  generous  friend. 
Manzo  was  now  nearly  eighty  years  of  age.  He  received  Milton  courteously,  and  the  effect  of 
the  interview  we  may  learn  from  the  fact  that  he  became  in  person  the  guide  of  the  young  scholar 
to  all  places  of  interest  in  Naples  and  its  neighbourhood.  “  I  experienced  from  him,”  says  Milton, 
“  as  long  as  I  remained  there,  the  most  friendly  attentions.  He  accompanied  me  to  the  various 
parts  of  the  city,  and  took  me  over  the  viceroy’s  palace  and  came  more  than  once  to  my  lodgings 
to  visit  me.  At  my  departure  he  made  earnest  excuses  to  me  for  not  having  been  able  to  show 


XX 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOIIN  MILTON. 


me  the  further  attention  which  he  desired  in  that  city  on  account  of  my  unwillingness  to  conceal 
my  religious  sentiments.”  Milton's  resolve,  on  leaving  home,  was,  never  to  obtrude  his  religious 
views,  but  never  to  conceal  them  when  that  question  should  be  raised  by  others.  But  this  precau¬ 
tion,  it  seems,  was  not  enough  to  secure  him  against  inconvenience,  nor  even  tiom  danger ,  tor  when 
he  meditated  returning  to  Rome,  he  was  admonished  by  merchants  in  Naples  that  they  had  learnt 
by  letters,  that  snares  were  being  laid  for  him  by  English  Jesuits,  if  he  should  appear  again  in 
that  city.  But  return  he  must,  and  he  would  return  through  Rome.  He  was  a  good  swordsman, 
and  feared  nothing,  where  the  strife  should  be  man  to  man. 

It  was  at  Naples  that  grave  tidings  reached  him  in  regard  to  the  conflict  which  had  grown  up 
between  sovereign  and  subject  in  England.  It  was  his  wish  to  have  gone  to  Sicily,  and  onwards 
to  Greece;  but  on  receiving  such  news,  he  says:  “I  considered  it  disgraceful  that,  while  my 
fellow-countrymen  were  fighting  at  home  for  liberty,  I  should  be  travelling  abroad  at  ease,  for 
intellectual  purposes.”  The  Scottish  nation  had  swept  away,  and  with  a  rude  hand,  all  the 
ecclesiastical  innovations  of  Laud  and  the  king.  England  was  in  strong  sympathy  with  what 
Scotland  had  done;  and  if  civil  war  had  not  commenced  south  of  the  Tweed,  thoughtful  men  saw 
that  it  was  imminent.  When  about  to  leave  Naples,  Milton  addressed  an  epistle  to  Manso,  in 
Latin  hexameters,  rich  in  a  higher  style  of  poetry  than  anything  which  the  muse  of  Tasso  had 
inspired  in  his  favour.  Manso,  in  return,  presented  his  friend  with  two  cups  of  rich  workmanship, 
and  with  them  the  following  brief  but  expressive  lines.  The  reference  in  the  last  line  is  to  the 
well-known  story  of  the  beautiful  Saxon  youths  exposed  for  sale  in  the  Roman  slave-market  in 
the  time  of  Pope  Gregory : — 

“  Joannes  Baptist  a  Mansus,  Marquis  of  Villa,  Neapolitan,  to  John  Milton,  Englishman. 

“Mind,  form,  grace,  face,  and  morals  are  perfect;  if  but  thy  creed  were, 

Then  not  Angelic  alone,  truly  Angelic  thou’dst  be.” 

It  was  something  to  leave  this  impression  on  the  mind  of  the  first  man  in  Naples.  “  To  Rome,” 
says  Milton,  “I  returned,  notwithstanding  what  I  had  been  told.  What  I  was,  if  any  man  asked, 
I  concealed  from  no  one;  if  any  one  in  the  city  of  the  Pope  attacked  the  orthodox  religion,  I, 
as  before,  for  a  second  space  of  nearly  two  months,  defended  it  most  freely.”2  In  Florence,  as  in 
Rome,  Milton  renewed  his  intercourse  with  old  friends,  and  then  passed  through  Bologna  and 
Ferrara,  to  halt  for  a  month  in  Venice.  From  Venice  his  track  was  through  Verona  and 
Milan,  and  over  Mount  St.  Bernard  to  Geneva.  In  the  latter  city  the  traveller  remained  some 
wreeks;  and  then,  returning  by  the  same  route  to  Paris,  he  reached  England  about  the  end  of 
July,  having  been  absent  “a  year  and  three  months,  more  or  less.”  This  brief  account  of  his 
travels  wras  given  when  the  course  he  had  taken  in  public  affairs  had  exposed  him  to  many 
unscrupulous  party  calumnies;  and  for  this  reason  ho  concludes  his  statement  on  this  matter 
in  the  following  words:  MI  again  take  God  to  witnoss  that  in  all  those  places,  wdiere  so  many 
tilings  are  considered  lawful,  I  lived  sound  and  untouched  from  all  profligacy  and  vice,  having  this 
thought  perpetually  with  me,  that,  though  I  might  escape  the  eyes  of  men,  I  certainly  could  not 
the  eyes  of  God.” 

It  is  observable  that  all  the  poetry  of  Milton  written  while  in  Italy,  in  common  with  nearly 
everything  written  by  him  wThile  in  Cambridge,  is  of  a  grave  description.  We  have  seen,  that  in 


1  Masson’s  Milton. 


*  Defen  sio  Secundun. 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


xxi 


his  noble  epistle  to  Manso,  he  made  no  secret  of  intending  to  give  his  mind  to  the  writing  of  an 
epic  poem;  and  the  verses  of  his  friends  concerning  him,  both  in  Rome  and  Florence,  show  that 
enough  had  fallen  from  his  lips  in  those  places  to  have  led  them  to  expect  a  work  of  that  nature 
from  his  genius.  To  this  time,  indeed,  no  thought  had  come  to  him  of  taking  the  loss  of  Paradise 
as  his  theme.  It  was  the  story  of  King  Arthur,  and  of  the  chivalrous  knights  and  the  ladies 
about  him,  that  had  hitherto  filled  his  imagination  with  its  glowing  pictures. 

When  Miltou  returned  to  England,  his  father  had  relinquished  the  house  at  Horton,  and  was 
residing  with  his  son  Christopher  at  Reading.  The  expense  inseparable  from  the  travel  of  the 
poet  had  not  prevented  his  purchasing  a  considerable  number  of  books.  Some  he  brought  with 
him,  and  others  were  to  follow.  In  fact,  we  are  warranted  from  circumstances  in  supposing  that 
the  means  now  allowed  him  were  such  as  to  secure  him  a  moderate  independence.  Commercial 
life,  in  his  case,  was  not  thought  of,  and  he  had  come  to  be  as  little  disposed  towards  professional 
life.  If  his  kind  father  could  |)rovide  for  him,  so  as  to  leave  him  to  his  books  and  to  his  literary 
work,  we  may  be  sure  he  would,  and  it  is  obvious  that  he  must  have  so  done. 

Milton’s  first  step  on  his  return  to  Loudon,  was  to  hire  part  of  a  house  in  St.  Bride’s 
Churchyard.  There  he  lodged  his  books,  and  resumed  his  studies.  This  was  sometime  towards 
the  close  of  1639.  But  in  the  following  year  we  find  him  taking  a  “garden  house” — that  is,  a 
detached  house  with  a  garden  round  it— in  Aldersgate  Street:  a  street  described  as  being  at  that 
time,  one  of  the  most  quiet  and  genteel  outlets  of  London.  By  this  time  his  sister  Philips  had 
become  a  widow,  and  had  married  again.  While  in  St.  Bride’s  Churchyard  he  had  taken  her 
youngest  son — a  lad  of  much  promise,  then  nine  years  of  age— “to  his  own  charge  and  care,”  and 
now  an  elder  nephew  was  received  with  him  as  a  boarder.  Having  generally  engaged  to  conduct 
the  education  of  these  lads  himself,  we  find  a  few  others  taken  with  them,  sons  of  his  personal 
friends;  and  with  whom  he  no  doubt  received  a  liberal  acknowledgment  for  his  services. 

At  this  point  in  Milton’s  career,  Johnson  gives  full  vent  to  his  bitter  disaffection  towards  him. 
“Let  not  our  veneration  for  Milton,”  he  writes,  “forbid  us  to  look  with  some  degree  of  merriment 
on  great  promises  and  small  performances  ;  on  the  man  who  hastens  home  because  his  countrymen 
are  contending  for  their  liberty,  and,  when  he  reaches  the  scene  of  action,  vapours  away  his 
patriotism  in  a  private  boarding-school.”  Milton  tells  us  that  he  thought  it  became  him  at  this 
juncture  to  leave,  “the  event  of  public  affairs,  first  to  God,  and  then  to  those  to  whom  the  people 
had  committed  that  task.”1  But  Milton’s  writings  are,  to  a  large  extent,  his  biography;  and  had 
Johnson  condescended  to  read  his  prose  works  with  the  care  they  merit,  the  following  passage 
must  have  arrested  his  attention,  and  must  have  sufficed  somewhat  to  check  his  merriment: 
“  Relying  on  the  assistance  of  God,  they— the  people  of  England— repelled  servitude  with  the 
most  justifiable  war;  and  though  I  claim  no  share  of  their  peculiar  praise,  I  can  easily  defend 
myself  against  the  charge  (if  any  charge  of  that  nature  should  be  brought  against  me)  of  timidity 
or  of  indolence.  For  I  did  not  for  any  other  reason  decline  the  toils  and  dangers  of  war,  than  that 
I  might,  in  another  way,  with  much  more  efficacy,  and  with  not  less  danger  to  myself,  render 
assistance  to  my  countrymen,  and  discover  a  mind  neither  shrinking  from  adverse  fortune,  nor 
actuated  by  any  improper  fear  of  calumny  or  of  death.  Since  from  my  childhood  I  had  been 
devoted  to  the  more  liberal  studies,  and  was  always  more  powerful  in  my  intellect  than  in 
my  body,  avoiding  the  labours  of  the  camp,  in  which  any  robust  common  soldier  might  easily  have 
surpassed  me,  I  betook  myself  to  those  weapons  which  I  could  wield  with  the  most  effect,  and  I 


1  Defensio  Secunda. 


XXII 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


conceived  that  I  was  acting  wisely  when  I  thus  brought  my  better  and  most  valuable  faculties— 
those  which  constituted  my  principal  strength  and  consequence — to  the  assistance  of  my  country 
and  her  most  honourable  cause.”1  No  course  that  Milton  might  have  taken  could  have  exposed 
him  to  greater  calumny  than  he  braved;  and  as  to  its  danger,  that  his  head  did  not  fall  on 
the  scatfold,  as  the  price  of  his  temerity,  was  to  become  a  matter  of  wonder  to  himself  aud 
to  all  men. 

Milton  lodged  himself  and  his  books  in  St.  Bride’s  Churchyard  in  the  autumn  of  1639.  He 
removed  from  St.  Bride’s  to  Aldersgate  Street  in  1640,  and  he  sent  out  his  tirst  blast  on  the  side  of 
the  Parliament  and  ecclesiastical  reform  in  1641.  During  eleven  years  Charles  I.  had  been  endeav¬ 
ouring  to  govern  England  without  the  aid  of  a  Parliament.  His  Majesty  had  deliberately  sus¬ 
pended  the  laws  which  he  had  bound  himself  by  oath  at  his  coronation,  and  by  solemn  pledges 
since,  to  uphold.  The  end  of  Government  is  to  give  security  to  person  and  property,  but  that 
security  had  passed  away.  The  king  taxed  the  subject  as  he  pleased;  sold  monopolies  in  all 
branches  of  trade  as  he  pleased;  and  arrested,  lined,  and  imprisoned  real  or  supposed  malcontents 
as  he  pleased.  No  one  could  be  safe,  except  under  the  conditions  of  being  submissive  and  silent; 
and  no  man  knew  his  own  even  on  those  terms.  In  ecclesiastical  affairs,  the  Romanising  system 
sustained  by  Laud  was  ascendant,  and  the  great  aim  of  its  adherents  was  to  suppress  all  Noncon¬ 
formity,  and  all  free  thought;  to  perpetuate  a  hierarchy  charged  high  with  priestly  elements;  to 
impose  the  English  Prayer  Book,  not  only  on  the  English,  but  also  on  the  Scots,  and  to  assimilate 
the  Anglican  ritual  to  the  Roman  to  such  an  extent,  that  scarcely  any  difference  could  be  seen 
between  them.  This  was  the  policy  in  relation  to  the  Church  which  Laud  regarded  .is  best  in  itself, 
and  as  most  in  accordance  with  the  new  policy  of  the  sovereign. 

But  in  1639  Scotland  rebelled,  and  as  a  nation,  denounced  and  cast  off  this  whole  order  of 
things.  The  king  appealed  to  his  English  subjects  to  aid  him  in  suppressing  this  revolt.  The 
answer  given  was — to  obtain  our  assistance,  you  must  give  us  back  our  laws,  and  allow  us 
the  freedom  which  those  laws  were  designed  to  secure  to  us  for  the  correction  of  abuses,  and  the 
development  of  our  interests  as  a  nation.  In  1641  Charles  had  resorted  to  every  available  expe¬ 
dient,  in  the  hope  of  avoiding  compliance  with  these  terms — but  in  vain,  ne  had  called  an 
assembly  of  peers  at  York.  He  had  dissolved  the  Short  Parliament  summoned  in  the  spring 
of  1640;  and  he  had  beeu  obliged  to  consent  to  the  meeting  of  the  memorable  Long  Parliament,  in 
the  November  of  that  year.  But,  though  the  sword  had  been  drawn  against  the  rule  of  the  king 
in  Scotland,  hitherto  no  weapon  had  been  unsheathed  against  him  in  England.  Had  Milton  been 
never  so  much  disposed,  therefore,  to  fly  to  arms  in  this  controversy,  the  only  way  in  which  he 
could  have  done  so  within  the  tirst  three  years  after  his  return  from  Italy,  would  have  been  by 
migrating  to  Scotland,  and  joining  the  ranks  of  the  insurgents  in  that  kingdom.  In  England, 
during  those  years,  the  points  at  issue  were  calmly  submitted  to  discussion,  and  both  parties 
protested  against  the  thought  of  attempting  a  settlement  by  any  other  means.  So  much  for  the 
justice  of  the  sneer  in  which  Johnson  found  it  so  pleasant  to  indulge. 

While  these  preliminaries  were  in  process,  Milton  had  ample  opportunity  of  seeing  the  extent 
to  which  the  Royalists  were  influenced  by  prejudice  and  misconception,  and  the  importance 
of  attempting  to  lead  the  mind  of  the  Parliamentarians  themselves  more  thoroughly  to  the  root  of 
the  quarrel.  He  might  have  done  this  in  Parliament  had  his  countrymen  given  him  a  place  there. 
As  circumstances  were,  the  only  channel  through  which  he  could  do  the  the  State  some  service 


*  Defennio  tkcunda. 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


xxiii 


was  that  of  the  press;  and  very  glad  at  any  time  would  his  enemies  have  been  if  he  could  have 
been  induced  to  lorego  such  means  of  assault,  and  to  have  taken  to  the  coarser  weapons  which 
multitudes  could  wield  as  well  or  better  than  himself. 

The  work  issued  by  Milton  iu  1641  was  inti  tied,  Of  Reformation  in  England,  and  the  Causes  that 
hitherto  have  Hindered  it.  Written  to  a  Friend.  The  writer  has  shown  in  his  Lycidas,  that  the 
condition  of  the  Anglican  Church  was  far  from  being  satisfactory  to  him.  It  is  in  the  following 
eloquent  words  that  he  describes  the  dawn  and  promise  of  the  Reformation  in  the  sixteenth  century: 
— “  But  to  dwell  no  longer  in  characterising  the  depravities  of  the  church,  and  how  they  sprang, 
and  how  they  took  increase;  when  I  recall  to  mind  at  last,  after  so  many  dark  ages,  wherein  the 
huge  overshadowing  train  of  error  had  almost  swept  all  the  stars  out  of  the  firmament  of  the 
Church  ;  how  the  bright  and  blissful  Reformation  (by  Divine  power)  strook  through  the  black  and 
settled  night  of  ignorance  and  anti-Christian  tyranny,  methinks  a  sovereign  and  reviving  joy  must 
needs  rush  into  the  bosom  of  him  that  reads  or  hears,  and  the  sweet  odour  of  the  returning  Gospel 
imbathe  his  soul  with  the  fragrancy  of  heaven.  Then  was  the  sacred  Bible  sought  out  of  the 
dusky  corners  where  profane  falsehood  and  neglect  had  thrown  it  ;  the  schools  opened,  divine  and 
human  learning  raked  out  the  embers  of  forgotten  tongues,  the  princes  and  cities  trooping  apace 
to  the  new  erected  banner  of  salvat’on  ;  the  martyrs,  with  the  irresistible  might  of  weakness, 
shaking  the  powers  of  darkness,  and  scorning  the  fiery  rage  of  the  old  red  dragon.”  From  this 
language  the  reader  will  judge  of  the  fervent  and  earnest  style  in  which  this  treatise  is 
written.  The  onward  course  to  have  been  expected  from  such  a  change  had  been  checked.  The 
causes  had  been  many,  and  among  them  a  bad  precedence  is  given  to  the  bishops,  whose  love  of 
pomp  and  power,  a  natural  result  of  the  false  position  assigned  them,  is  said  to  have  made  them 
the  grand  corrupters,  in  place  of  being,  according  to  their  title,  spiritual  fathers  of  the  Church. 

This  publication  must  have  appeared  early  in  1641.  It  was  soon  followed  by  the  Humble 
Remonstrance  in  Favour  of  Episcopacy,  from  the  pen  of  Hall,  Bishop  of  Norwich,  who  was  urged  to 
take  the  field  ou  this  question  by  Archbishop  Laud.  Iu  answer  to  the  Bishop,  a  work  was 
speedily  issued  bearing  the  title  of  Smectymnuus,  a  name  formed  from  the  initials  of  the  five 
Puritan  divines  who  were  concerned  in  producing  it.  This  rejoinder  brought  Archbishop  Usher 
into  the  conflict.  Milton  replied  to  his  lordship’s  Apostolical  Institution  of  Episcopacy  in  two 
treatises,  intitled,  Of  Prelatical  Episcopacy ,  and  Reasons  of  Church  Government.  Bishop  Hall  now 
published  a  defence  of  his  Remonstrance,  which  was  quickly  followed  by  Animadversions  from 
Milton.  All  these  publications  made  their  appearance  before  the  close  of  1641. 

Deep,  manifestly,  was  the  impression  made  by  Milton’s  writings.  In  1642,  a  volume  came 
forth  intitled,  A  Modest  Confutation  against  Slanderous  and  a  Scurrilous  Libel.  This  was  generally 
regarded  as  coming  from  the  pen  of  Bishop  Hall's  son.  To  the  unprincipled  attacks  made  upon 
Milton’s  private  character  in  this  work,  he  replied  triumphantly  in  his  Apology  for  Smectymnuus. 

The  issue  of  the  passionate  controversy  on  this  subject  was  to  be  seen,  first  in  the  removal  of 
the  Bishops  from  the  House  of  Lords,  and  finally  in  the  suppression  of  the  order.  To  show  how 
far  the  writings  of  Milton  contributed  to  this  result,  it  would  be  necessary  to  analyze  them,  and 
the  design  of  this  brief  memoir  pecludes  us  from  dwelling  on  such  questions. 

The  stormy  1641  and  1642  having  passed,  we  find  Milton  left  in  comparative  quiet  to  his 
pupils,  or  to  meditate  on  his  great  intended  poem,  of  which  he  had  spoken,  in  anticipation,  in 
lofty  terms,  in  his  Apology  for  Smectymnuus.  Remembering  the  pains  Milton  had  taken  to  set 
forth  his  views  on  education,  we  are  naturally  curious  to  see  him  at  work  in  that  direction. 
Unfortunately,  the  result  is  far  from  realising  our  high  expectations.  Under  the  tutoring  of  the 


I 


XXIV 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


author  of  Comus,  and  of  L' Allegro  and  II  Pemeroso,  youth,  we  should  suppose,  would  be  trained  in 
the  reading  of  the  most  finished  and  fascinating  authors  the  classical  library  could  furnish.  But 
this  is  far  from  being  the  case.  Books  which  we  should  have  expected  to  see  in  the  foremost 
place  in  the  course,  such  as  Virgil,  Horace,  and  Ovid,  are  passed  over  in  favour  of  Lucretius, 
Manlius,  and  of  some  of  the  dullest  and  least  intelligible  prose  authors  in  the  language.  No 
mention  is  made  of  Tacitus,  Livy,  or  Cicero.  In  the  Greek  course,  we  do  not  find  a  single 
tragedian,  orator,  or  even  a  historian,  with  the  exception  of  some  fragments  from  Xenophon. 
Milton’s  idea  seems  to  have  been,  that  if  a  knowledge  of  the  language  was  acquired,  a  perception 
of  its  beauties  would  come  of  itself.  We  should  add  that  the  pupils  in  this  unique  establishment 
were  required  to  learn  Hebrew,  and  to  read  it  in  connection  with  the  Chaldee  and  Syriac.  Modern 
languages,  too,  were  not  forgotten  ;  and  on  Sundays  Milton  accompanied  the  reading  of  the  New 
Testament  in  Greek  with  exposition,  and  with  something  in  the  way  of  lectures,  or  a  scheme  of 
divinity. 

Johnson  inquires  satirically  for  the  great  men  produced  by  this  “  wonder-working  academy.” 
An  educator  of  youth  should  have  known  that  the  function  of  a  preceptor  is  to  train  capacity, 
and  that  where  the  capacity  for  great  things  does  not  chance  to  exist,  it  is  in  vain  to  expect  them. 
There  was,  we  doubt  not,  much  more  in  Milton’s  teaching  than  could  be  made  to  appear  in  any 
printed  outline.  An  authority  likely  to  be  well  informed  says,  that  he  made  his  nephews  capable 
of  interpreting  a  Latin  author  at  sight  in  a  twelvemonth,  and  that  as  he  was  severe  on  one  hand, 
so  he  was  most  familiar  and  free  in  his  conversation  to  those  whom  he  must  serve  in  the  way  of 
education.”1  His  nephew  Philips  remarks,  that  had  his  pupils  received  his  instructions  “with 
the  same  acuteness  and  wit  of  comprehension,  the  same  industry,  alacrity,  and  thirst  after 
knowledge  as  the  instructor  was  indued  with,  what  prodigies  of  wit  and  learning  might  they  have 
proved  !  ”  We  learn,  also,  from  this  last  authority,  that  Milton  had  personal  friends  at  this  time 
who  were  reckoned  among  “  the  beaux  of  those  days,”  and  that  with  them  he  now  and  then  had 
his  seasons  of  relaxation  and  holiday — days  as  welcome  to  his  pupils,  we  may  be  sure,  as  to 
himself. 

In  some  of  those  “  gaudy  ”  days,  as  they  are  called,  and  in  some  days  of  a  more  sober 
complexion,  Milton,  we  can  imagine,  was  enough  like  ourselves  to  have  felt  occasionally  that  it  is 
not  good  for  man  to  be  alone.  But  a  protracted  and  romantic  courtship,  at  this  juncture  would 
not  have  comported  well  with  his  deep  interest  in  public  affairs,  or  with  his  feeling  as  to  the 
service  which  it  became  him  to  render  to  his  country. 

At  that  time  a  family  of  the  name  of  Powell  was  residing  at  Forest  Hill,  about  four  miles  from 
Oxford.  Richard  Powell  was  at  the  head  of  a  large  family,  was  a  magistrate,  and  kept  up  the 
establishment  of  a  country  gentleman.  Before  the  father  of  the  poet  left  Bread  Street,  there  had 
been  intercourse,  and  money  transactions  of  some  importance,  between  him  and  Powell,  and  in 
these  pecuniary  matters  Milton  was  himself  formally  and  legally  interested.*  On  the  removal 
of  the  Miltons  to  Horton,  we  can  suppose  that  the  two  families,  from  the  lessened  distance 
between  them,  would  meet  more  frequently.  However  this  may  have  been,  we  are  told  by  the 
poet’s  nephew,  who  was  then  under  his  roof,  that  about  Whitsuntide  in  1643,  “  He  took  a  journey 
into  the  country,  nobody  about  him  certainly  knowing  the  reason,  or  that  it  was  more  than  a 
journey  of  recreation.  After  a  month’s  stay,  home  he  returns  a  married  man  who  set  out  a 
bachelor,  his  wife  being  Mary,  the  eldest  daughter  of  Richard  Powell,  then  a  justice  of  the  peace 


1  Aubrey. 


*  Masson’s  Life  of  Milton. 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


XXV 


of  Forest  Hill,  near  Shotover,  in  Oxfordshire.”  Milton  had  a  money  claim  on  his  father-in-law  at 
the  time  of  his  marriage,  but  he  was  to  receive,  and  we  presume  along  with  the  payment  of  his 
debt,  £1,000  with  his  bride.  No  portion,  however,  of  debt  or  dowry,  for  reasons  which  will  be 
mentioned,  ever  came  to  him. 

Milton  removed  about  this  time  to  his  new  home  in  Barbican,  and  to  that  house  he  brought  his 
wife,  with  whom  came  some  of  her  relations,  and  feasting  took  place  there  for  some  days,  in  cele¬ 
bration  of  the  nuptials,  and  for  the  entertainment  of  the  bride’s  friends.  Mary  Powell,  we 
imagine,  must  have  been  a  pleasant  person  to  look  upon.  But  what  other  agreeable  qualities  she 
possessed,  remained,  it  would  seem,  in  great  part  to  be  discovered.  Only  a  few  weeks  after  her 
coming  to  London,  a  letter  came,  inviting  Mrs.  Milton  to  return  for  a  short  time  into  the  country. 
The  lady  was  disposed  to  comply  with  this  request,  and  had  probably  caused  it  to  be  sent.  Her 
husband  complied  with  her  wishes,  but  urged  that  her  return  should  not  be  later  than  Michaelmas. 
Michaelmas  came,  but  the  truant  wife  did  not  make  her  appearance.  Milton  wrote  once  and  again, 
but  his  letters  were  not  even  answered,  and  a  special  messenger  sent,  is  said  to  have  been  dis¬ 
missed  with  some  sort  of  contempt.  Milton  was  eminently  a  chaste  man.  He  must  have  flattered 
himself  with  the  hope  of  happiness  in  married  life.  But  that  hope  had  now  vanished. 

Who  was  to  blame  for  this  state  of  things?  Men  given  to  public  life  may  make  affectionate 
husbands,  but  there  will  of  necessity  be  limits  to  their  uxoriousness.  Women  who  marry  such 
men  should  not  only  be  women  who  wish  their  husbands  to  be  somebody,  but  women  willing  to  bear 
the  cost;  and  the  women  of  that  type  are  few.  Looking  to  che  high  regions  of  thought  in  which 
the  mind  of  Milton  was  so  often  found,  to  his  warm  temperament,  and  the  haughty  resoluteness 
of  will  which  characterised  him,  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  chances  of  a  happy  marriage  in  his 
case,  did  not  seem  to  be  great.  It  is  pleaded  in  favour  of  Mary  Powell,  that  her  family  were  Roy¬ 
alists, that  their  house,  generally  cheerful,  had  probably  been  made  more  gay  than  usual  of  late  by 
the  presence  of  cavaliers,  who  had  their  quarters  at  that  time  with  the  king  at  Oxford,  and  that  the 
transition  from  domestic  life  in  the  residence  of  her  father,  to  what  she  found  with  Milton  in  Bar¬ 
bican,  was  more  than  she  could  bear.  In  reply,  it  is  sufficient  to  say,  that  the  principles  of  Milton, 
and  the  earnestness  with  which  he  avowed  them,  were  known  to  the  nation,  so  that  they  could 
not  have  been  a  secret  at  Forest  Hill,  and  it  was  to  have  been  expected  that  the  dwelling  which 
he  owned  would  be  no  scene  of  frivolity,  but  the  home  of  graceful  and  thoughtful  occupation. 
About  the  time  of  the  marriage  the  prospects  of  the  Parliamentary  cause  were  somewhat  gloomy. 
To  many,  dud  especially  to  the  king’s  party  about  Oxford,  it  seemed  highly  probable  that  the 
scale  would  turn  in  favour  of  the  Royalists,  and  it  is  supposed  by  Milton’s  nephew,  Phillips,  that 
this  consideration  weighed  with  the  family,  leading  them  to  attempt  to  shake  off  a  connection 
which,  in  the  probable  course  of  affairs,  might  be  to  their  disadvantage.  If  such  was  really  their 
motive,  we  need  not  say  anything  to  expose  its  selfishness,  injustice,  and  cruelty. 

But  it  is  not,  we  think,  to  be  denied,  that  both  John  Milton  and  Mary  Powell  had  made  a 
mistake.  Mary  Powell’s  unfitness  for  her  new  relation,  seems  to  have  consisted,  not  so  much  in  hei 
love  of  gaiety,  for  her  temperament  was  more  phlegmatic  than  vivacious,  but  rather  in  hei  want  of 
capacity  to  make  herself  agreeable  to  an  intelligent  husband.  It  may  be  said  that  Milton  himselt 
ought  to  have  seen  this  defect  beforehand,  and  should  have  abstained  from  such  a  connection,  and 
it  is  a  fact  that  be  was  not  without  misgiving  on  this  point.  The  family  however  persuaded  him 
that  such  appearances  were  natural  in  such  a  female  at  such  a  time,  and  would  soon  weai  away. 
But  whatever  Milton  may  have  found  in  his  wife  that  lie  could  have  wished  to  be  otherwise,  to  his 
honour,  he  was  prepared  to  abide  by  the  consequences  of  the  step  he  had  taken.  Milton  did  not 


XX  vl 


THE  LIFE  OF  .JOHN  MILTON. 


discard  Mary  Powell;  Mary  Powell  deserted  Milton,  and  insult  was  added  to  desertion,  both  by 
herself  and  her  friends. 

It  is  to  be  remembered  that  Milton  lived  to  have  three  wives.  With  his  second  wife  his  connec¬ 
tion  was  one  of  unmingled  happiness.  His  beautiful  sonnet  to  her  memory  warrants  us  in  saying 
thus  much.  With  his  third  wife  he  lived  through  the  last  ten  years  of  his  life  very  affectionately; 
and  of  the  magnanimous  conduct  of  which  he  was  capable  both  towards  Mary  Powell  and  hex- 
ungenerous  relatives,  we  shall  have  evidence  presently.  Milton,  as  he  approached  middle  life, 
was  no  doubt  a  man  of  some  quickness  and  strength  of  temper,  and  in  his  later  years  had  painful 
thoughts  on  the  infirmity  and  depravity  possible  to  women.  But  while  firm  in  his  opinion  as  to 
the  precedence  which  the  sti-onger  sex  should  take  of  the  weaker,  his  conception  of  the  charm 
that  may  be  found  in  woman's  nature,  and  of  the  homage  that  manhood  might  with  fitness  render 
to  it,  we  see  in  his  descriptions  of  Eve,  and  of  the  lady  in  Comus,  and  in  other  portions  of  his 
writings.  He  was  evidently  of  Sheridan’s  opinion,  that  women  are  both  worse  and  better  too 
than  men. 

But  left  thus  alone — worse  than  alone— Milton  began  to  meditate  on  the  means  of  extricating 
himself  from  this  difficulty.  The  question  came  to  be,  Is  the  marriage  bond  indissoluble,  except 
in  the  cases  limited  by  existing  law  ?  And  the  conclusion  to  which  he  came,  after  a  wide  course  of 
reading  and  much  thought,  was,  that  divorce  might  take  place  on  other  grounds  than  those 
usually  acknowledged.  In  1614,  the  year  following  his  marriage,  he  addressed  a  treatise  to  the 
Parliament,  intitled  The  Doctrine  and  Discipline  of  Divorce.  He  then  found  that  the  opinion  he  had 
broached  on  this  subject  had  been  avowed  by  Martin  Bueei',  in  an  address  to  Edward  VI.,  and  he 
reprinted  the  judgment  of  the  reformer,  with  a  preface  and  a  postscript.  By  this  time  the  Pi-es- 
byterians  had  become  ascendant,  and  great  was  the  storm  which  they  raised  against  this  new 
doctrine.  They  procured  that  John  Milton,  as  a  demoraliser  of  the  community,  should  be  sum¬ 
moned  to  the  bar  of  the  House  of  Lords;  but  their  lordships  shared  little  in  this  furor;  the 
accused  was  honorably  dismissed.  In  1645  Milton  published  another  treatise  on  this  question, 
intitled  Tdrachorden ,  being  an  exposition  of  the  four  principal  passages  of  Scripture  relating  to  it. 
One  more  publication  appeared  on  this  subject,  intitled  Colastcrion.  Some  anonymous  writer  had 
attempted  an  answer  to  the  Doctrine  and  Discipline  of  Divorce,  and  this  last  production  of  Milton 
on  this  controversy  consisted  of  a  reply  to  that  answer.  The  opinions  he  now  avowed  were  never 
abandoned,  and  those  who  accepted  them  were  sometimes  called  Miltonists.  The  substance  of  the 
doctrine  was  “  that  other  reasons  of  divorce  besides  adultery  wei-e  by  the  law  of  Moses,  and  are 
yet  to  be  allowed  by  the  Christian  magistrate,  as  a  piece  of  justice,  and  that  the  words  of  Christ 
are  not  hereby  contraiied;  next,  that  to  prohibit  absolutely  any  divorce  whatever,  except  those 
which  Moses  excepted,  is  against  the  reason  of  the  law.  The  grand  position  is  this— that  indis¬ 
position,  unfitness,  or  contrariety  of  mind,  arising  from  a  cause  in  nature  unchangeable,  hindei-ing, 
anil  ever  likely  to  hinder,  the  main  benefits  of  conjugal  society,  which  are  solace  and  peace,  is  a 
greater  reason  of  divorce  than  adultery,  provided  there  be  a  mutual  consent  for  separation.”  1 

But  these  wei-e  not  the  only  publications  from  the  pen  of  Milton  during  the  two  years  through 
which  he  is  present  to  us  as  a  deserted  husband.  In  1644,  at  the  request  of  his  friend  Hartlib,  he 
sent  forth  his  Tractate  on  Education,  which  has  been  generally  i-egarded  as  exhibiting  a  Utopian 
scheme  on  that  subject,  aiming  at  a  fulness  of  acquisition  and  culture  in  youth  that  can  be 
realised  only  through  j-ears  and  experience.  It  rarely  happens  that  men  of  genius  make  good 


1  Fletcher,  hit roduction  to  Milton's  P-ose  Works. 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


xxvn 


preceptors.  They  make  their  own  acquisitions  easily,  almost  by  intuition,  and  they  are  always  in 
danger  of  measuring  the  aptitude  of  others  by  their  own.  The  slow  and  bit-by-bit  process  in 
which  education  really  consists,  is  best  in  the  hands  of  men  of  more  patience,  and,  we  may  perhaps 
add,  of  duller  faculties.  Genius  is  impulsive,  routine  is  equable — the  same  to-morrow  as  to-day, 
and  knows  how  to  wait. 

But  the  year  in  which  the  Tractate  on  Education  was  published  was  marked  by  the  appearance 
of  a  work  of  a  much  higher  order— The  Areopagitica,  or  Speech  for  the  Liberty  of  Unlicensed  Printing. 
This  discourse  Milton  addressed  to  the  Parliament,  and  among  his  prose  writings  there  is  not 
another  more  eloquent,  nor  another  so  pregnant  with  truths  of  permanent  signiticance  and  worth. 
Men  are  virtuous,  says  Milton,  when  they  reject  evil  from  choice,  not  when  barred  from  it  by 
necessity.  “I  cannot  praise  a  fugitive  and  a  cloistered  virtue,”  he  writes,  “  unexercised  and 
unbreathed,  that  never  sallies  out  and  seeks  her  adversary,  but  slinks  out  of  the  race  where  that 
immortal  garland  is  to  be  run  for,  not  without  dust  and  heat.” 

The  Parliament  had  issued  an  order  to  regulate  printing,  which  said,  “  That  no  book, 
pamphlet,  or  paper  shall  be  henceforth  printed  unless  the  same  be  first  approved  and  licensed  by 
such,  or  at  least  one  of  such,  as  shall  be  thereto  appointed.”  Milton  urges  the  Parliament  to 
re-consider  this  order  ;  to  remember  that  this  subjection  of  authorship  to  the  ignorance  or  caprice 
of  a  censor  owes  its  origin  to  recent  times;  and  to  guard  against  the  delusion  of  supposing  that 
any  such  law  will  suffice  to  prevent  the  printing  of  bad  books.  On  the  contrary,  he  maintains, 
that  its  effect  must  be  “primely  to  the  discouragement  of  all  learning,  and  the  stop  of  truth,  not 
only  by  disexercising  and  blunting  our  abilities  in  what  we  know  already,  but  by  hindering  and 
cropping  the  discovery  that  might  be  yet  further  made  both  in  civil  and  religious  wisdom.”  Tho 
principle,  he  argues,  that  would  put  an  end  to  the  freedom  of  the  press  on  the  plea  that  error 
must  not  be  promulgated,  should  put  an  end  to  controversy  altogether,  inasmuch  as  no  man  can 
refute  an  error  without  publishing  the  error  supposed  to  be  refuted.  We  do  not  punish  bad  men 
because  they  are  supposed  to  be  capable  of  doing  bad  things.  We  wait  until  the  bad  things  are 
done.  Let  it  be  so  with  books.  In  reasoning  thus,  Milton  must  have  been  aware  that  full  license 
to  print  would  be  an  uncertain  sign  of  liberty,  if  the  laws  concerning  treason,  sedition,  libel,  and 
alleged  blasphemy  were  not  brought  more  into  accordance  with  that  article  of  freedom.  License 
to  print  as  we  please  would  be  a  small  privilege,  if  the  Government  should  retain  the  power  to 
punish  for  so  doing  pretty  much  as  it  may  please.  Milton  in  assuming  that  his  liberty  of  unli¬ 
censed  printing  would  be  a  real  liberty,  must  have  looked  to  further  reformation  in  these  collateral 
forms.  But  the  nineteenth  century  was  to  come  before  this  vision  was  to  be  realised  in  our  history. 

Milton,  however,  had  many  friends,  who,  knowing  his  opinions  on  this  vital  question, 
entreated  him  to  print,  and  many  more  responded  to  his  utterances  when  he  had  so  done.  The  in¬ 
fluence  of  the  leaven  thus  diffused  on  the  course  of  legislation,  if  not  wholly  successful,  was  not 
inconsiderable.  The  action  of  the  licenser  under  the  Long  Parliament  was  checked  and  limited  by 
opinion  as  thus  enlightened.  One  functionary  resigned  the  odious  office;  and  under  Cromwell  it 
was  abolished.  With  many  words  like  the  following  did  Milton  deliver  his  expostulation  and 
warning  : — “  I  shall  for  neither  friend  nor  foe  conceal  what  the  general  murmur  is;  that  if  it  come 
to  inquisitioning  again,  and  licensing,  and  that  we  are  so  timorous  of  ourselves,  and  suspicious  of 
all  men,  as  to  fear  each  book,  and  the  shaking  of  every  leaf,  before  we  know  what  tli e  contents  are: 
if  some  who  but  of  late  were  little  better  than  silenced  from  preaching,  shall  come  now  to  silence 
us  from  reading,  except  what  they  please,  it  cannot  be  guessed  what  is  intended  by  some  but  a 
second  tyranny  over  learning,  and  will  soon  put  it  out  of  controversy,  that  bishops  and  presbyters 


xxviii 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


are  the  same  to  us  both  name  and  thing.”  But  the  bard  kindles,  as  if  in  prophetic  vision  with  his 
theme.  London  was  to  him  a  great  spiritual  arsenal,  in  which  weapons  of  all  kinds  were  in  course 
of  preparation,  that  great  achievements  might  tollow.  Methinks  I  see  in  m^  mind  a  noble  and 
puissant  nation,  rousing  herself  like  a  strong  man  alter  sleep,  and  shaking  her  in\  incible  locks 
methinks  I  see  her  as  an  eagle  inning  her  mighty  youth,  and  kindling  her  uudazzled  eyes  at  the 
full  midday  beam;  purging  and  unsealing  her  long-abused  sight  at  the  fountain  itself  of  heavenly 
radiance;  while  the  whole  noise  of  timorous  and  Hocking  birds,  with  those  also  that  love  the 
twilight,  flutter  about,  amazed  at  what  she  means,  and  in  their  envious  gabble  would  prog¬ 
nosticate  a  year  of  sects  and  schisms.”  Our  readers  must  turn  to  this  speech,  must  read  and 
ponder  it,  to  have  a  just  impression  as  to  the  lofty  and  prophetic  spirit  which  pervades  it. 

In  1645  Milton  published  a  collection  of  his  poems,  including  a  number  of  sonnets  written 
during  that  year.  The  new  sonnets  were  those  on  the  noise  which  had  been  raised  by  the  author’s 
publications  on  the  divorce  question;  also  those  on  Lawrence,  Cyriack  Skinner,  and  Henry  Lawes, 
and  those  on  Lady  Margaret  Ley ,  and  A  Virtuous  Young  Lady.  In  the  preface  to  this  volume, 
Moseley,  the  publisher,  says :  “  The  poems  of  Spenser,  in  these  English  ones,  are  as  nearly 
imitated  as  sweetly  excelled.” 

The  young  lady  in  whose  praise  one  of  the  new  sonnets  is  written  is  supposed  to  have  been  a 
Miss  Davis,  to  whom  Milton,  in  his  deserted  state,  began  to  look  in  hope  of  finding  in  her  a  second 
wife.  The  lady,  who  is  described  as  young  and  handsome,  and  of  a  respectable  family,  hesitated,  we 
are  told,  about  committing  herself  to  a  relationship,  which,  however  agreeable  it  might  have  been  in 
other  respects,  could  not  fail  to  subject  her  to  much  social  injury  and  obloquy.  Meanwhile,  a  sudden 
change  was  to  take  place  in  the  circumstances  of  Milton,  of  a  nature  to  put  an  end  to  the  suit. 
The  summer  of  1645  gave  the  Parliamentarians  the  crowning  victory  of  Naseby.  The  Royal  cause 
was  prostrated  from  that  day.  The  Powells  now  saw  that  an  alliance  with  Milton  would  be  not 
only  safe,  but  might  be  advantageously  acknowledged.  The  woman’s  heart  in  Mary  Powell,  too, 
we  have  reason  to  think,  had  its  relentings;  and  the  rumour  that  her  husband  was  seeking  another 
partner  for  his  home,  may  not  have  tended  to  render  her  less  dissatisfied  with  the  present  state  of 
matters. 

It  was  while  affairs  were  in  this  posture,  that  Milton  paid  a  visit  to  a  friend  named  Black- 
borough,  in  St.  Martin’s-le-Grand.  Blackborougli  was  not  alone  among  the  friends  of  Milton  in 
wishing  to  see  the  breach  between  himself  and  his  wife  healed,  and  this  visit  was  chosen  as  an 
occasion  on  which  to  ascertain  if  this  might  not  be  accomplished.  Mrs.  Milton  was  stationed  in  an 
inner  room.  She  presently  made  her  appearance,  threw  herself  at  the  feet  of  her  husband,  and 
entreated,  with  tears,  and  by  the  affectionate  memories  of  the  past,  that  she  might  be  forgiven.  It 
is  said  that  Milton  at  first  hesitated;  but  he  was  at  length  subdued,  and  when  he  declared  the  past 
forgiven,  we  may  be  sure  that  it  was  so.  No  one  can  doubt  that  the  poet's  description  of  Adam’s 
reconciliation  to  Eve  was  written  with  a  vivid  remembrance  of  the  feeling  awakened  by  this  scene. 

In  the  following  year  Mr.  li.  Powell,  of  Forest  Ilill,  was  “  in  the  city  and  garrison  of  Oxford 
at  the  surrender  thereof.”  In  the  State  Paper  Office  is  a  document  signed  by  General  Fairfax,  of 
the  27th  of  June,  1646,  giving  Powell  full  liberty  to  pass  the  guards  with  his  servants,  horses, 
arms,  goods,  and  all  other  necessaries,  and  to  repair  unto  London  or  elsewhere  upon  his  necessary 
occasions.  Powell  and  his  large  family  made  their  way  to  the  capital,  where  the  son-in-law  whom 
they  had  so  deeply  wronged  and  insulted  received  them  under  his  roof,  and  gave  them  a  home 
during  many  months.  A  few  weeks  after  these  arrivals  Milton’s  first  child  was  born. 

The  last  Latin  poem  by  Milton  was  written  early  in  1647.  This  was  the  Ode  on  John  Rouse,  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


XXIX 


keeper  of  the  Bodleian  Library.  Early  in  1646  his  wife’s  father  had  died  under  liis  roof.  Twelve 
months  later,  his  own  father,  who  had  been  for  some  years  a  quiet  inmate  with  him,  breathed  his 
last.  His  house  being-  gradually  freed  from  the  members  of  his  wife’s  family,  and  the  death  of  his 
father  having  probably  rendered  him  more  independent  of  tuition,  Milton  removed  sometime  in 
1647  from  his  large  house  in  Barbican  to  a  smaller  in  Holborn.  The  house  in  'Holborn,  it  is  said, 
opened  backwards  into  Lincoln’s  Inn  Fields — a  space  which  better  answered  to  its  name  at  that 
time  than  at  present.  In  the  house  at  Holborn,  Milton’s  second  daughter,  Mary,  was  born. 

During  1648  Milton  translated  nine  in  his  series  of  translated  Psalms.  That  year  was  not 
favourable  to  tranquil  studies  in  the  case  of  any  man  feeliug  as  an  Englishman  should  have  felt  in 
relation  to  public  affairs.  The  king’s  party  had  been  everywhere  dispersed.  Charles  had  become 
a  prisoner,  iirst  with  the  Scots,  then  with  the  English  Presbyterians,  and  then  with  the  Indepen¬ 
dents.  The  Independents,  and  especially  Cromwell,  were  concerned  not  only  to  spare  the  life  of 
the  king,  but,  if  possible,  to  come  to  some  settlement  with  him.  But  his  majesty’s  procrastina¬ 
tions,  intrigues,  and  duplicities,  not  only  frustrated  all  hope  of  that  nature,  but  exasperated  the 
men  who  would  have  served  him,  and  convinced  the  army  that  his  life  would  never  be  anything 
but  a  tissue  of  conspiracies  against  the  lives  of  the  persons  who  had  dared  to  resist  his  will. 
What  were  the  thoughts  of  Milton  concerning  events  as  they  tended  towards  this  result  ?  Where 
was  he  when  Charles  appeared  before  the  high  court  of  justice  ?  Where,  when  that  discrowned 
head  fell  upon  the  scaffold?  We  know  not.  But  we  know  that  in  his  mind,  in  common  with  his 
countrymen  generally,  the  war  waged  had  not  been  waged  against  monarchy.  The  object  of  the 
strife  had  been  to  settle  the  monarchy  on  a  constitutional  basis  that  should  be  compatible  with 
liberty.  That  issue  failing,  the  alternative  was  a  republic;  and  when  that  came,  men  were  heard 
to  say,  “  We  have  not  sought  this,  but  it  has  come  ;  and  seeing  in  it,  as  we  do,  the  will  of  a  Power 
above  our  own,  we  give  our  adhesion  to  it,  and,  if  needs  be,  reason  enough  can  be  shown  to  justify 
us  in  so  doing.”  Milton  was  one  of  these  men. 

On  the  death  of  the  king,  the  Presbyterians  raised  a  loud  lament,  and  discharged  the  most 
bitter  invectives  against  the  Independents,  as  the  alleged  perpetrators  of  that  deed.  Milton,  who 
could  have  excused  anything  of  that  sort  from  the  old  Royalists,  or  from  the  ignorant  among  the 
people,  could  not  brook  it  as  coming  from  that  quarter.  Hence,  a  few  weeks  after  the  king's 
death,  he  sent  forth  his  pamphlet,  intitled  The  Tenure  of  Kings  and  Magistrates ,  the  design  of 
which,  in  so  far  as  it  touched  on  the  proceedings  against  Charles,  was  said  to  be  “  rather  to 
reconcile  the  minds  of  men  to  the  event,  than  to  discuss  the  legitimacy  of  that  particular 
sentence.”  The  Argument  itself,  however,  goes  further  than  these  words  would  indicate.  The 
proposition  it  is  designed  to  prove  is  given  in  the  following  words:  “  That  it  is  lawful,  and  hath 
been  held  so  through  all  ages,  for  any  who  have  the  power,  to  call  to  account  a  tyrant,  or  wicked 
king,  and,  after  due  conviction,  to  depose,  and  to  put  him  to  death,  if  the  ordinary  magistrate 
have  neglected  or  denied  to  do  it.”  It  is  further  shown  that  the  Presbyterians,  who  now  so  much 
blame  the  deposing  of  the  king,  were  themselves  the  men  who  long  since  deposed  the  monarch  in 
the  senate,  and  levelled  their  instruments  of  death  against  him  in  the  held.  The  startling  facts, 
and  the  high-handed  logic  of  this  publication,  wounded  the  Presbyterians  deeply.  They  had 
denounced  Milton  before,  they  denounced  him  more  than  ever  now.  But  the  object  of  the  writer 
was  not  so  much  to  conciliate  that  party,  as  to  compel  them  to  silence,  by  exposing  tlieii  incon¬ 
sistency  and  insincerity. 

The  next  voice  from  Milton  was  in  his  Observations  on  the  Articles  of  Peace  with  the  Irish  Rebels. 
Those  articles,  drawn  up  by  Ormond,  the  Lord-Lieutenant,  in  the  name  of  the  king,  demonstrated 


XXX 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


that  Charles,  contrary  to  his  most  solemn  pledges,  was  prepared  to  secure  his  objects  by  the  aid  of 
tiie  Irish  Catholics,  and  by  any  amount  of  deception  that  might  serve  his  purpose.  The  signa¬ 
tures  attached  to  this  compact  were  written  only  thirteen  days  before  the  unhappy  king  was  led 
to  execution.  “  Such,”  says  Milton,  “  were  the  fruits  of  my  private  studies,  which  I  gratuitously 
presented  to  the  Church  and  to  the  State,  and  for  which  I  was  recompensed  by  nothing  but 
impunity,  though  the  acts  themselves  procured  me  peace  of  conscience  and  the  approbation  of  the 
good,  while  I  exercised  that  freedom  of  discussion  which  I  loved.  Others,  without  labour  or 
desert,  got  possession  of  honours  and  emoluments;  but  no  one  ever  knew  me  either  soliciting 
anything  myself  or  through  the  medium  of  my  friends— ever  beheld  me  in  a  suppliant  posture  at 
the  doors  of  the  senate,  or  the  levees  of  the  great.  I  usually  kept  myself  secluded  at  home, 
where  my  own  property,  part  of  which  had  been  withheld  during  the  civil  commotions,  and  part  of 
which  had  been  absorbed  in  the  oppressive  contributions  which  I  had  to  sustain,  afforded  me  a 
scanty  subsistence.  When  I  was  released  from  these  engagements,  and  thought  that  I  was  about 
to  enjoy  an  interval  of  uninterrupted  ease,  I  turned  my  thoughts  to  a  history  of  my  country,  from 
the  earliest  times  to  the  present.” 

This  English  history  was  a  favourite  subject  with  Milton,  but  he  was  not  to  bring  his  narrative 
lower  than  to  the  Conquest.  As  a  history,  it  is  of  no  great  value  to  us;  but.  as  giving  us  the 
thoughts  of  Milton,  and  as  calling  forth  his  powers  of  description  in  relation  to  such  a  series  of 
events,  the  fragment  must  always  be  interesting.  Its  occasional  comparisons  between  past  and 
present,  though  deemed  irrelevant  then,  are  not  among  its  least  instructive  portions  to  us. 

But  the  time  had  now  come  in  which  the  man  who  had  never  sought  place  for  himself  was  to 
be  raised  to  an  honourable  position  by  the  unbought  patronage  of  the  State.  Milton  was  invited 
by  the  Government  to  become  Secretary  for  Foreign  Tongues.  His  recent  pamphlet  had  done  the 
State  some  service,  and  his  competency  to  the  vacant  office  was  above  that  of  any  other  man  to 
whom  it  could  have  been  assigned.  The  President  of  the  Council  was  the  great  lawyer,  Bradshaw, 
and  we  have  seen  that  the  mother  of  the  poet  was  said  to  have  been  a  Bradshaw.  Milton  accepted 
the  appointment  on  the  13th  of  March,  1649,  and  on  the  15th  was  formally  admitted  to  his  new 
function — a  function  which  was  not  to  be  a  sinecure  in  his  hands. 

In  the  judgment  of  many,  the  execution  of  the  king  was  a  great  crime,  and,  judged  by  its 
effects,  it  was  certainly  a  great  error.  Of  course,  it  would  hold  forth  a  warning  to  crowned  heads 
that  might  not  be  unwholesome,  and  any  other  course  that  might  have  been  taken  would  have 
been  beset  with  extraordinary  difficulties.  But  the  feeling  of  the  nation  was  deeply  offended  by 
what  had  been  done,  and  over  a  large  surface  the  wound  was  such  as  not  to  admit  of  being  healed. 
In  this  state  of  feeling  a  heavy  blow  was  inflicted  on  the  new  Commonwealth  by  the  publication  of 
the  Eikon  Basilike.  That  book  of  devotions  was  fabricated  to  set  forth  the  late  king  as  a  person  of 
singular  devoutness  and  sanctity,  in  all  the  habits  of  his  private  life.  Even  in  that  age  of  slow 
intercommunication,  the  book  flew  through  the  country,  edition  after  edition,  with  surprising 
rapidity.  In  answer  to  the  Eikon  Basilike  (the  Royal  Image),  Milton  sent  forth  one  of  the 
most  elaborate  of  his  writings,  under  the  title  of  Iconoclastes  ( the  Image-breaker).  The  aim  of  this 
publication  was,  of  course,  to  state  the  case  of  the  Parliament  as  against  the  king,  and  to 
demonstrate  the  falsity  of  the  pretensions  set  up  in  his  favour.  It  was  a  second  Grand  Remon¬ 
strance,  and  could  not  fail  to  serve  the  Commonwealth. 

But  the  conduct  of  the  Parliament  and  of  the  Army  towards  the  king  gave  hardly  less  offence 
abroad  than  at  home.  Towards  the  close  of  this  year,  Claude  Saumaise,  better  known  as  Salmasius, 
published  his  Defensio  Regia  pro  Carlo  Prinio  ad  Carolarn  Secundum.  The  author  of  this  work  was 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


xxxi 


a  scholar  of  the  first  rank,  and  of  great  celebrity.  In  the  course  of  liis  argument  the  divine  right  of 
kings  is  openly  and  emphatically  asserted,  and  all  sorts  of  learning  are  laid  under  contribution  to 
show  that  sovereigns  owe  no  responsibility  to  subjects,  but  to  God  only.  Such  reasoning  would 
have  done  little  harm  in  England,  but  it  was  seasoned  with  much  foul  abuse  of  our  country,  and 
was  adapted  to  mislead  foreigners.  Such,  indeed,  was  the  impression  made  by  this  performance, 
that  in  January,  1650,  we  find  it  ordered  in  Council,  that  “Mr.  Milton  do  prepare  something  in 
answer  to  the  book  ot  Salmasius.  ”  The  treatise,  when  produced,  was  ordered  to  be  printed,  and 
thanks  were  voted  to  the  author.  As  the  work  of  Salmasius  was  in  Latin,  the  reply  was  in  the 
same  language.  It  bore  the  title  Defensio  pro  Populo  Anglicano. 

Salmasius  was  grossly  misinformed  concerning  the  real  state  of  things  in  England,  and  from 
carelessness,  and  contempt  of  tbe  persons  whom  he  assailed,  he  fell  into  many  blunders  not 
creditable  to  his  general  scholarship.  Manifestly,  nothing  was  further  from  his  thoughts  than  that 
an  antagonist  like  Milton  would  be  sent  forth  to  meet  him— an  opponent  keen  to  detect  every  slip, 
and  strong  to  expose  it  when  detected  His  extreme  servility,  and  the  arrogance  and  insolence  of 
his  manner  generally,  were  such  that  Milton  knew  not  how  to  speak  of  him  in  subdued  terms. 
This,  it  must  be  remembered,  was  the  secret  of  the  invective,  the  sarcasm,  the  ridicule,  and  of  the 
degrading  epithets  which  the  Englishman  discharged  so  fiercely  and  so  pitilessly  against  his 
adversary.  His  agility  and  force  in  this  conflict,  remind  you  of  nothing  so  much  as  of  the  skill  and 
daring  of  some  chieftain  among  the  ancient  athletse  when  in  the  heat  of  the  strife.  By  every  blow, 
he  seems  to  tell  you,  that  the  foe  before  him  deserves  no  mercy  and  shall  have  none.  But  his 
passion  is  not  so  ascendant  as  to  impair  his  logic,  or  to  prevent  his  availing  himself  of  his  stores  of 
learning.  His  defence  of  the  rights  of  humanity  against  every  form  of  ojipression  is  almost 
uniformly  just,  and  rises  at  times  to  a  grandeur  which  subdues  you  by  its  elevation  and  awfulness. 
It  was  only  natural  that  a  fight  between  such  Titans  should  attract  the  attention  of  the  learned, 
and  of  educated  men  generally,  over  Europe.  It  was  a  rare  thing  to  see  two  such  combatants  face 
to  face.  Some  said  that  Milton  had  killed  his  opponent,  who  never  seemed  to  be  the  same  man 
again,  and  died  the  next  year.  Others  denied  that  assertion.  But  it  was  impossible  that  such  a 
handling  should  have  failed  to  i>roduce  a  bitter  vexation. 1  From  this  time  the  feeling  on  the  Con¬ 
tinent  hostile  to  the  English  Parliament  was  much  changed.  The  fame  of  Milton  became  second 
only  to  that  of  Cromwell,  and  the  light  of  the  one  and  the  power  of  the  other  were  accepted  widely 
as  representing  the  influences  which  had  raised  England  to  her  new  position. 

When  Milton  received  the  order  of  the  Council  to  write  this  work,  his  sight,  which  had  shown 
symptoms  of  weakness  through  some  ten  years  past,  had  declined  in  an  alarmiug  degree  during 
the  last  two  years.  His  medical  advisers  assured  him,  that  to  attempt  to  obey  the  instruction  of 
the  Government,  would  be  to  lose  his  last  remnant  of  vision — to  become  blind  !  His  answer  delib¬ 
erately  given,  was,  “  Then  let  blindness  come.”  And  the  blindness  came  as  had  been  predicted. 
But  to  his  last  hour  of  life  it  was  his  solace  to  remember,  that  this  falling  of  a  dark  curtain  between 
himself  and  the  visible  universe,  had  come  from  such  a  cause. 

“  Cyriack,  this  three  years’  day  these  eyes,  though  clear, 

Bereft  of  light,  their  seeing  have  forgot. 

What  supports  me,  dost  thou  ask  ? 

The  conscience,  friend,  to  have  lost  them  overplied 
In  liberty’s  defence,  my  noble  tnsk.” 


4  Salmasius  left  a  reply  in  MS.,  which  was  printed  amidst  the  excitement  of  the  Restoration,  eight  years  after  his 
decease.  Its  extraordinary  virulence  betrayed  the  rankling  of  the  wound  that  had  been  inflicted.  The  work  at¬ 
tracted  little  attention. 


XXXII 


THE  LI  EE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


Eight  years  were  to  pass,  and  nothing  more  was  to  be  heard  of  Saltnasius  in  this  controversy. 
But  it  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  Defence  of  the  Feople  of  England,  with  the  praises  of  which 
Europe  “  rang  from  side  to  side,”  would  pass  without  some  attempted  answers.  Several  were 
issued,  and  left  to  their  fate.  One  published  anonymously  Milton  attributed  to  Bishop  Bramhall. 
Its  author,  however,  was  an  unknown  episcopal  clergyman  named  Rowland.  To  this  piece 
John  Phillips,  one  of  Milton’s  nephews,  wrote  a  reply,  which  the  poet  himself  revised  before 
publication. 

We  have  seen  that  in  1649  Milton  removed  from  Barbican  to  Ilolborn.  On  accepting  his 
appointment  as  secretary,  he  removed  to  apartments  assigned  him  in  Whitehall,  but,  from  some 
unknown  cause,  he  was  required  to  vacate  his  new  quarters,  and  some  time  after  the  midsummer 
of  1651,  he  took  a  pretty  garden-house  in  Petty  France,  in  Westminster,  next  door  to  Lord 
Scudamore’s,  opening  into  St.  James’s  Park.  In  this  house  Milton  continued  until  the  Restoration 
— eight  years.1 

As  the  blindness  of  Milton  came  upon  him  by  slow  degrees,  it  has  not  been  found  easy  to  fix 
on  the  exact  time  at  which  his  sight  may  be  said  to  have  totally  failed.  One  of  his  opponents 
describes  him  as  blind  in  1652.  This  alone  would  not  be  sufficient  evidence;  but  Milton,  in  his 
reply  to  this  writer,  so  expresses  himself  as  to  warrant  us  in  fixing  the  event  in  that  year- 

In  a  letter  to  a  friend,  dated  September,  1654,  he  states,  that  during  ten  years  he  had  felt  his 
sight  grow  “  weak  and  dim  ;  ”  and  he  describes  the  process  of  the  privation  until  light  had 
“  faded  into  a  uniform  blackness,  such  as  ensues  on  the  extinguishing  of  a  candle.”  “When  I 
sate  down,”  he  says,  “  to  read  as  usual  in  the  morning,  my  eyes  gave  me  considerable  pain,  and 
refused  their  office  till  fortified  by  moderate  exercise  of  body.  If  I  looked  at  a  candle  it  appeared 
surrounded  with  an  iris.  In  a  little  a  darkness  covering  the  left  side  of  the  left  eye,  which  was 
partially  clouded  some  years  before  the  other,  intercepted  the  view  of  all  things  in  that  direction. 
Objects  also  in  front  seemed  to  dwindle  in  size  whenever  I  closed  my  right  eye.  This  eye,  too, 
for  three  years  gradually  failing,  a  few  months  previous  to  my  total  blindness,  while  I  was 
perfectly  stationary,  and  now  thick  vapours  appear  to  settle  on  my  forehead  and  temples,  which 
weigh  down  my  lids  with  an  oppressive  sense  of  drowsiness,  especially  in  the  interval  between 
dinner  and  the  evening.  1  ought  not  to  omit  mentioning  that  before  I  wholly  lost  my  sight,  as 
soon  as  I  lay  down  in  bed,  and  turned  upon  either  side,  brilliant  flashes  of  light  used  to  issue  from 
my  closed  eyes;  and  afterwards,  upon  the  gradual  failure  of  my  powers  of  vision,  colours,  pro¬ 
portionately  dim  and  faint,  seemed  to  rush  out  with  a  degree  of  vehemence  and  a  kind  of  inward 
noise.”8  But  after  1652  these  vestiges  of  the  departing  light  recurred  no  more. 

The  only  work  in  reply  to  his  Defence  of  the  Feople  of  England  which  Milton  condescended  to 
answer  was  a  publication,  intitled  Regi  Sanguinis  Clamor  ad  Ccelum  adversus  Parricidis  Anglicanos 
(The  Cry  of  Royal  Blood  to  Heaven  against  the  English  Parricides).  The  author  of  this  work  was 
a  Peter  Du  Moulin,  resident  in  England,  but  of  French  origin.  We  learn  from  himself  that  the 
manuscript  was  sent  to  Salmasius,  who  entrusted  the  printing  of  it  to  a  person  named  Moore- 
Latinised  “  Morns  ” — a  Scotchman,  who  was  the  Principal  of  then  Protestant  College  of  Castres,  in 
Languedoc.  The  volume  bore  no  name  except  that  of  the  printer  ;  but  under  that  name  Morns 
himself  wrote  a  dedication  of  the  work  to  Charles  TT.  Milton  somehow  came  to  know  that  Morns 
had  been  concerned  in  sending  forth  this  work,  and  fastened  upon  him  as  its  author.  His  Second 
Defence ,  thus  provoked,  was  published  in  1654  ;  and  as  the  work  to  be  dealt  with  was  full  of  the 


\ 


1  Phillips’s  L\fe  of  Milton. 


1  Syimnons’s  Life  of  Milton. 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


xxxiii 


grossest  assaults  on  Lis  private  character,  Milton  was  led  by  this  circumstance  to  vindicate 
himself  against  all  such  aspersions,  and  at  the  same  time  to  give  the  world  his  judgment  as  to  the 
character  of  the  men  who  had  become  most  conspicious  in  originating  and  sustaining  the  English 
Commonwealth.  The  biographical  value  of  this  /Second  Defence  is  great.  We  owe  thus  much  to 
the  short-sighted  malignity  of  Milton’s  assailants.  Morus  attempted  a  reply,  which  Milton 
answered,  and  to  a  second  rejoinder  he  added  a  supplement.  But  the  controversy  was  exhausted. 

In  1653  Milton  became  a  widower.  His  wife  is  said  to  have  died  in  her  last  confinement. 
During  the  next  three  years,  while  engaged  in  discussing  questions  of  the  greatest  public 
interest,  and  in  the  sight  of  Europe,  his  home,  there  is  reason  to  fear,  was  not  in  a  satis¬ 
factory  state.  His  wife  had  left  him  blind,  with  three  children,  all  girls,  the  youngest  only 
two  years  old,  and  the  oldest  not  more  than  eight.  We  learn  from  himself,  that  much  as  he  had 
served  the  Commonwealth,  he  was  never  made  in  any  degree  the  richer  by  such  labour.  His 
income,  accordingly,  must  have  consisted  in  his  salary  as  Secretary,  at  best  somewhat  less  than 
£300  a  year,  and  in  his  private  means.  In  1655,  his  blindness  having  rendered  it  necessary  that 
he  should  be  assisted  in  his  office,  his  salary  was  reduced  to  £150  a  year,  which  was  assigned  to 
him  as  to  be  his  for  his  life.  Soon  afterwards,  his  faithful  friend  Andrew  Marvel,  was  appointed 
his  coadjutor  in  his  official  duty — an  appointment  which  appears  to  have  been  made  at  his  own 
suggestion.1 

It  was  when  his  personal  circumstances  had  assumed  this  posture  that  Milton  married  his 
second  wife.  This  lady  was  a  Miss  Woodcock,  daughter  of  Captain  Woodcock,  of  Hackney.  How 
the  domestic  affairs  of  Milton  had  been  managed  during  the  last  three  years  is  not  known ;  but 
that  the  three  young  children  were  neglected,  as  they  would  not  have  been  by  a  mother  of  only 
ordinary  intelligence,  is  highly  probable.  With  Catherine  Woodcock  Milton  realised  a  happiness 
in  married  life  hitherto  unknown  to  him,  and  the  children,  we  can  imagine,  began  to  show  signs  of 
improvement  under  her  influence.  But  this  gleam  of  sunshine  sent  through  the  home  of  the  poet 
was  to  be  of  short  duration.  Fifteen  months  after  her  marriage  his  wife  died  in  her  confinement, 
and  the  infant  did  not  live.  The  following  beautiful  sonnet  expresses  the  feeling  with  which 
Milton  never  ceased  to  regard  this  sainted  woman  : — 

“Methought  I  saw  my  late-espoused  saint 

Brought  to  me,  like  Alcestis.  from  the  grave, 

Whom  Jove’s  great  sou  to  her  glad  husband  gave, 

Rescued  from  Death  by  force,  though  pale  and  faint. 

Mine,  as  whom  washed  from  spot  of  child-bed  taint, 

Purification  in  the  old  law  did  save, 

And  such,  as  yet  once  more  I  trust  to  have 
Full  sight  of  her  in  heaven  without  restraint, 

Came  vested  all  in  white,  pure  as  her  mind : 

Her  face  was  veiled ;  yet  to  my  fancied  sight 
Love,  sweetness,  goodness  in  her  person  shined 
So  clear,  as  in  no  face  with  more  delight. 

But,  oh  !  as  to  embrace  me  she  inclined,  ^ , 

I  waked;  she  fled;  and  day  brought  back  my  night.” 

Eight  eventful  years  were  to  pass  before  Milton  was  to  marry  again.  The  division  of  labour, 
as  touching  his  office  as  secretary,  must  have  given  him  more  command  of  time.  He  still 
occupied  himself  with  his  History  of  England.,  and  he  now  began  to  make  collections  towards  an 
improved  Latin  dictionary,  and  occupied  himself  in  digesting  materials  for  a  body  of  divinity. 
But  soon  after  he  became  a  widower  a  second  time,  his  thoughts  began  to  settle  on  the  Fall  of 


1  Milford — Masson. 


XXXIV 


THE  LIFE  OF  .JOHN  MILTON. 


Man  as  the  subject  for  his  long-contemplated  epic  poem.  According  to  his  friend  Aubrey,  he  had 
commenced  that  great  work  in  1G58.  Even  now,  however,  his  time  was  not  to  be  given  to  it  more 
than  partially.  In  1G58  he  publishes,  from  manuscript,  Sir  Walter  ltuleigh’s  work,  intitled  The 
Cabinet  Council,  in  1G59,  he  issues  his  valuable  treatise  on  Civil  Tower  in  Ecclesiastical  Cases,  and 
a  vigorous  pamphlet  on  the  Means  of  Removing  Hirelings  out  of  the  Church.  In  this  year  also  ho 
wrote  a  letter  to  a  friend  concerning  the  ruptures  of  the  Commonwealth,  and  another  to  General 
Monk  in  favour  of  a  free  Commonwealth,  and  describing  the  present  means  of  securing  it.  But 
these  were  brief  ordinary  letters,  extending  to  a  page  or  two,  and  were  not  printed.  The 
pamphlet  published  some  months  later,  intitled  The  Ready  and  Easy  way  to  Establish  a  Free  Com¬ 
monwealth,  was  something  much  more  elaborate,  and  was  addressed  to  the  nation.  In  this  per¬ 
formance  Milton  urges,  with  much  earnestness,  the  excellency  of  a  Commonwealth,  “  compared 
with  the  inconveniences  and  dangers  of  re-admitting  kingship  in  this  nation.”  Another  fragment 
was  published  by  him  at  this  juncture  in  reply  to  a  sermon  of  a  high  Royalist  tone,  preached  by  a 
Dr.  Matthew  Griffith,  described  as  “  Chaplain  to  the  late  King.”  In  these  two  pieces  Miiton 
delivers  his  last  protest  against  the  return  of  Stuart  rule.  Almost  to  the  moment  when  the  guns 
of  Dover  Castle  were  to  proclaim  the  landing  of  Ilis  Majesty  Charles  11.,  Milton's  voice  is  raised 
in  this  cause.  But  the  nation  heard  not,  and  Court  and  country  hastened  to  ful  til  the  worst  pre¬ 
dictions  uttered  by  Cromwell  long  since,  and  now  reiterated  by  Milton.  The  most  sober  portion  of 
the  people  had  become  weary  of  a  war  of  factions,  of  disorder  sinking  deeper  and  deeper  into 
confusion,  and  were  willing  to  hope  that  the  reports  circulated  everywhere,  as  to  the  wise  and 
patriotic  intentions  of  the  exiled  King,  would  prove  to  be  well  founded.  That  hope  was  to  prove 
vain.  But  the  unwelcome  experience  came  too  late.  What  had  been  done  could  not  be  undone. 

During  the  eight  years  preceding  the  Restoration  Milton  had  lived  in  his  detached  house  in 
Petty  France,  near  the  center  of  all  the  actions  of  those  years  in  relation  to  the  great  questions 
both  of  Church  and  State.  Under  that  roof  he  had  been  wont  to  receive  his  friends,  so  that  thei'e 
we  can  imagine  Syriac  Skinner  discoursing  freely  on  the  recent  debates  in  Parliament,  or  in  his 
club,  and  on  the  tendencies  of  public  affairs.  There  Andrew  Marvel’s  honest  voice  was  often 
heard  on  such  topics,  and  in  sharp  and  witty  criticism  on  poetry,  and  on  literature  generally. 
There  Robert  Boyle  often  spoke,  as  we  may  believe,  to  his  blind  friend  on  the  most  recent  experi¬ 
ments  in  philosophy,  and  passed  from  the  mysteries  of  nature  to  express  his  devout  thoughts 
concerning  its  Author.  Milton’s  writings  show  that  many  of  the  most  distinguished  men,  both  in 
the  army  and  the  state,  were  personally  known  to  him,  and  such  men  were,  no  doubt,  to  be  seen 
from  time  to  time  by  his  fireside.  But  with  Milton,  as  with  Bacon,  the  admiration  of  his  genius 
by  his  countrymen  was  surpassed  in  that  manifested  by  distinguished  foreigners.  During  the 
years  under  review  he  was  the  great  Englishman  whore  most  stranger  wished  to  see,  next  to 
Cromwell.  And  it  is  certain  that  many  a  flattering  pilgrimage  of  that  nature  was  made  to  his 
humble  dwelling. 

But  with  the  Restoration  all  is  changed.  Milton  must  have  felt  that  his  life  had  ceased  to  be 
secure.  His  political  career  was  at  an  end,  and  silence  in  the  future  could  not  be  regarded  as 
enough  to  protect  him  against  the  consequences  of  the  past.  He  now  left  Petty  France,  and 
found  an  asylum  with  a  friend  in  Bartholomew  Close.  Proclamation  was  issued  for  his  appre¬ 
hension,  but  he  had  friends  able  and  willing  to  serve  him.  Ilis  brother-in-law,  Sir  Thomas  Cl arges; 
Morrice,  Secretary  of  State,  cousin  to  General  Monk;  Andrew  Marvel,  who  had  a  seat  in  Par¬ 
liament;  two  distinguished  Royalist  aldermen  of  York;  and  above  all,  Sir  William  Davenant,  are 
mentioned  as  having  used  influence  in  his  favour.  Even  among  his  enemies  there  were  men  who 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


XXXV 


could  not  think  of  liis  blindness  without  pity,  nor  of  his  genius  without  respect.  It  has  been  said 
that  some  of  his  friends  reported  him  as  dead,  and  got  up  a  mock  funeral  to  divert  the  Government 
from  its  threatened  search  after  him.  Such  an  expedient  would  have  been  innocent  enough, 
though  we  cannot  suppose  that  Milton  would  have  been  any  party  to  it.  Had  anything  of  this 
nature  been  true,  the  wits  of  the  court  of  Charles  would  not  have  left  it  to  come  down  to  us  from 
a  date  long  after  the  event. 

In  June,  1660,  the  Commons  moved  that  Milton’s  Iconoclastes  and  his  Defence  of  the  People 
of  England  should  be  burnt  by  the  hangman,  and  in  August  that  was  done.  But  an  act  of  indem¬ 
nity  was  then  passed,  which  spared  the  life  of  the  author,  though  some  months  later,  and,  from 
some  unknown  cause,  we  find  him  in  the  keeping  of  the  Sergeant-at-Arms.  He  was  soon  released, 
however,  simply  on  the  payment  of  his  fees.  With  his  characteristic  independence  and  fear¬ 
lessness,  he  resisted  that  payment  on  the  ground  of  its  exorbitancy,  and  the  demand  was  reduced. 

On  leaving  his  retreat  in  Bartholomew  Close,  Milton  took  a  house  in  Holborn,  near  Red  Lion 
Square,  but  removed  after  a  short  interval  to  Jewin  Street.  Here  he  published  a  work  on  the  Acci¬ 
dence  and  Grammar  of  the  Latin  Language;  also  Aphorisms  of  State,  from  another  manuscript  left  by  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh.  We  have  now  to  add,  that  to  his  house  in  Jewin  Street  Milton  brought  his  third 
wife;  but  this  does  not  seem  to  have  occurred  earlier  than  some  time  in  1664.  The  poet’s  friend, 
Dr.  Paget,  recommended  to  him  Elizabeth,  daughter  of  Mr.  Robert  Minshull,  of  Wistaston,  near 
Nantwich,  in  Cheshire,  as  a  lady  who  might  contribute  to  his  happiness;  and  a  marriage  Avas  the 
result.  Milton  was  now  fifty-six  years  of  age  His  wife  was  thirty  years  his  junior.  At  this  time 
his  eldest  daughter  was  nearly  eighteen  years  of  age,  tbe  second  sixteen. 

Milton  had  remained  so  long  unmarried  in  the  hope,  apparently,  that  these  daughters  would 
become  capable  and  trustworthy  in  the  management  of  his  affairs;  but  in  these  expectations  he 
must  have  been  disappointed.  Milton  is  charged  with  having  conducted  himself  toward  his 
daughters  with  little  of  the  feeling  to  have  been  expected  from  him.  We  submit  the  case  on  both 
sides  to  the  judgment  of  the  reader. 

Mistress  Foster,  a  grand-daughter  of  Milton’s,  in  low  circumstances,  is  described  as  stating 
that  Milton,  besides  his  alleged  harshness  toward  his  daughters,  was  so  indifferent  generally  in 
his  feeling  towards  them,  that  he  would  not  allow  them  to  learn  to  write.  The  eldest  could  not 
read  to  him,  from  some  impediment  in  her  speech,  but  the  two  younger — so  Deborah,  the  youngest 
of  the  two,  says — were  made  to  read  in  eight  languages.  As  Greek  and  Hebrew  were  among  these 
languages,  to  have  been  compelled  to  read  much  in  those  tongues,  or  indeed  in  any  tongue  while 
ignorant  of  its  meaning,  must  have  been  a  little  disagreeable  and  exhausting.  The  poet’s  nephew, 
Phillips,  relates,  that  as  the  young  persons  complained  heavily  of  this  labour,  they  were  at  length, 
all  three,  sent  from  home,  “  to  learn  seme  curious  and  ingenious  sorts  of  manufacture  that  are 
proper  for  women  to  learn,  particularly  embroidei’y  in  gold  and  silver.”  And  the  fact  that  Milton 
at  his  death  left  all  his  property  to  his  widow,  witli  the  exception  of  what  his  daughters  might 
claim  through  their  mother  from  the  Powells,  has  been  thought  to  warrant  the  unfavourable 
constructions  which  have  been  put  on  these  statements. 

In  reply,  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  Mrs.  Foster,  the  poet’s  grand-daughter,  is  not  an  alto¬ 
gether  trustworthy  witness,  for  her  assertion  that  Milton  would  not  allow  his  daughters  to  learn 
to  write  is  manifestly  untrue,  inasmuch  as  Aubrey  says  positively  that  Deborah,  the  youngest, 
was  amanuensis  to  her  father,  and  that  he  taught  her  Latin,  and  how  to  read  Greek— that  is,  to 
understand  the  one  language,  and  to  read  the  other.  Deborah  further  says,  that  though  they  were 
not  sent  to  school,  they  were  “  taught  at  home  by  a  mistress  kept  for  that  purpose.”  This  must 


XXXVI 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


mean  that  they  were  brought  up  under  a  governess.  To  this  expenditure  was  added  the  cost  of 
enabling  them  to  learn  the  art  of  embroidery,  and  the  assistance  rendered  to  them  during  the  last 
four  or  tire  years  of  his  life,  when  they  had  ceased  to  be  a  part  of  his  household.  It  is  towards  the 
close  of  those  years  that  he  speaks  of  having  “  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  estate  in  providing  for 
them.”  Me  says  at  the  same  time  that  they  have  been  “  undutiful  and  unkind  to  him;  ”  that  they 
were  “  careless  of  him  beiug  blind,  and  made  nothing  of  deserting  him;”  that,  in  place  of  being  the 
comfort  to  him  he  needed,  “  they  did  combine  together  in  counseling  his  maidservant  to  cheat  him 
in  her  marketings;  ”  that  they  had  made  away  with  some  of  his  books,  and  would  have  sold  the 
rest  of  his  books  to  the  dunghill  women;  and  that  Mary,  the  second  in  age  being  told  that  her 
father  was  about  to  marry,  said  that  the  better  news  to  her  would  be  to  hear  that  he  was  dead. 

With  regards  to  Milton’s  wife,  she  was  twenty-six  years  of  age  when  she  married,  and  she  is 
described  by  Aubrey,  who  knew  her,  as  “  a  genteel  person,  of  a  peaceful  and  agreeable  humour.” 
From  all  that  is  said  of  her  we  may  presume  that  she  was  a  woman  of  personal  attractions.  We 
know  that  she  held  her  husband  in  great  veneration;  that  poetry  which  came  to  him  in  the  night, 
she  often  committed  to  writing  at  his  dictation  early  in. the  day;  that  she  studied  his  comfort  in  all 
things,  and  proved,  in  fact,  an  excellent  wife.  According  to  Milton's  own  words  she  was  a 
“loving  wife; ’’and  his  brother  Christopher  states  on  oath,  that  he  “complained,  but  without 
passion,  that  his  children  had  been  unkind  to  him,  but  that  his  wife  had  been  very  kind  and 
careful  of  him.”  In  leaving  his  disposable  property  to  her,  which,  altogether,  would  not  give  her 
anything  beyond  the  means  of  a  moderate  subsistence,  he  regarded  himself  as  discharging  a  debt 
of  gratitude.  In  the  compromise  ultimately  made  when  the  will  had  been  disputed,  the  daughters 
were  content  to  receive  £100  each  as  their  share.  At  the  same  time,  the  £1,000  still  due  to  him 
from  the  Powells,  acknowledged  by  persons  competent  to  pay  it  as  an  honourable  debt,  he  left  his 
daughters  to  claim.  1  “  Phillips  relates,”  says  Johnson,  “  that  Mrs.  Milton  persecuted  the  children 
during  the  life  of  her  husband,  and  cheated  them  at  his  death.”  It  must  suffice  to  say  that 
Phillips  has  not  made  that  statement,  nor  any  statement  at  all  like  it;  nor  is  this  the  only  instance 
in  which  Johnson's  hostile  feeling  has  betrayed  him  into  infamous  representations  of  this  descrip¬ 
tion.  The  will  made  in  behalf  of  the  widow,  and  which  she  very  probably  induced  her  husband  to 
make,  was  the  only  cheating  with  which  she  could  be  charged;  and,  with  regard  to  persecution,  De¬ 
borah  might  have  left  a  home  of  reasonable  comfort  to  have  been  virtually  adopted  as  she  was,  by 
Mrs.  Merien;  while  her  elder  sisters  could  hardly  have  lived  from  live  to  six  years  as  young  women 
with  their  step-mother,  had  they  been  subject  to  grave  ill-treatment  at  her  hands.  On  the  whole, 
in  relation  to  Milton  s  conduct  towards  his  children,  as  towords  his  first  wife,  without  venturing  to 
say  that  he  was  without  fault,  we  feel  no  difficulty  in  saying  that  he  was  a  man  much  more 
sinned  against  than  sinning.  * 

1  "According  to  the  custom  of  London,  previous  to  the  statute  i  James  II.,  c.  17,  Mrs.  Milton  would  be  entitled 
to  two  thirds  of  her  husband's  effects — one-third  as  widow,  and  one-third  as  administratrix,  the  remaining  third 
being  the  property  of  the  children ;  and,  consequently,  £300,  the  amount  paid  to  them,  would  represent  the  full  share 
of  their  father’s  estate,  if  it  amounted  to  no  more  than  £900,  even  without  taking  into  account  any  such  future  pay¬ 
ment  as,  according  to  a  conjecture,  hazarded  in  a  note,  a  clause  in  the  leases  may  possibly  allude  to.  There  is  no 
very  strong  evidence  that  it  amounted  to  more  than  this.  Phillips  writes  that  he  is  said  to  have  died  worth  £1,500 
in  money,  a  considerable  estate,  all  things  considered;  so  that  the  writer,  while  giving  currency  to  what  may  have 
been  his  cousin's  exaggerated  statement  of  their  father’s  property,  seems  to  intimate  his  own  opinion,  that  it  was  more 
than  he  should  have  expected :  but  Milton  himself  is  proved  to  have  contemplated,  as  a  mere  possibility,  the  event  of  his 
property  realising  more  than  £1.000,  in  which  case  he  expressed  his  wish  that  his  brother  Christopher’s  children 
should  have  the  overpluss,  though  he  probably  considered  the  chances  too  remote  to  be  worth  providing  for  in 
his  will.” — Chceiham  Publications,  vol.  xxiv.  13. 

’See  these  particulars  given  in  some  detail  by  Todd,  Mitford,  and  Keightley,  but  especially  in  the  Pipers 
connectetl  icith  Milton  and  his  Family,  in  vol.  xxiv.  of  the  Chatham  Publications. 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


XXXVll 


Milton  did  not  continue  long  in  Jewin  Street  after  liis  marriage.  His  next,  and  his  last, 
remove  was  to  a  house  in  Artillery  Walk,  then  a  pleasant  avenue  to  Bunhill  Fields.  But  he  had 
not  been  long  settled  in  his  new  house  when  he  was  driven  from  it  by  the  Plague;  which  came 
with  such  terrible  effect  over  the  metropolis  in  1665.  Milton  now  took  possession  for  a  while  of  a 
cottage  at  Chalfout,  in  Buckinghamshire,  which  had  been  hired  for  him  by  his  young  friend 
El  wood,  the  Quaker.  By  this  time  he  had  completed,  or  very  nearly  completed,  his  Paradise  Lost 

Our  earliest  information  concerning  the  intention  of  Milton  to  write  an  epic  poem  comes  to  us 
during  bis  continental  tour.  The  eulogy  pronounced  on  him  in  Florence  shows  that  he  must  have 
mentioned  some  purpose  of  this  kind  to  his  friends  in  that  city.  We  have  seen,  that  in  his  poem 
to  Manso  of  Naples,  a  few  months  later,  he  is  explicit  on  this  point;  but  the  subject  then  in  his 
thoughts  was  King  Arthur  and  the  Knighthood  of  his  Age.  In  his  treatise  on  Church  Government , 
published  in  1641,  this  purpose  is  again  indicated,  and  the  subject  is  still  King  Arthur.  We 
know  not  how  or  when  the  British  theme  came  to  be  displaced  by  the  Biblical;  but  in  1658  this 
change  had  taken  place,  and  some  years  before,  Phillips  and  other  friends  had  seen  fragments  of 
the  poetry,  especially  the  Address  of  Satan  to  the  Sun ,  which  appeared  ultimately  in  the  Paradise 
Lost.  Through  some  eight  or  ten  years,  accordingly,  this  subject  may  be  said  to  have  occupied  the 
poet’s  thought,  and  to  have  moved  him  more  or  less  to  write  upon  it;  and  through  seven  years  pre¬ 
ceding  its  publication,  it  hail  been  his  chosen  and  settled  theme.  Milton’s  earliest  conception  of 
the  work,  as  is  well  known,  presented  it  in  the  form  of  a  drama.  The  Milton  manuscripts  at  Cam¬ 
bridge  place  before  us  dramatic  schemes  on  the  Fall  of  Man,  framed  somewhat  in  the  manner  of 
the  old  mysteries.  Happily  that  form  was  abandoned,  and  very  little  time  would  seem  to  have 
been  wasted  upon  it. 

The  most  potent  cause  leading  to  the  choice  of  this  higher  theme  will  probably  be  found 
in  the  new  current  given  to  Milton’s  thoughts  on  his  return  to  England  in  1689.  While  at 
Cambridge,  his  discontent  with  the  state  of  things  in  the  English  Church  had  precluded  him  from 
becoming  a  clergyman.  His  Lycidas  shows  that  this  feeling  had  grown  upon  him  when  that  poem 
was  written.  But  his  residence  at  Horton,  and  his  continental  tour,  embrace  the  interval  in  his 
career  which  may  be  said  to  have  been  the  brightest,  and  had  his  life  continued  to  be  of  that 
cheery  hue,  it  is  probable  that  the  epic  poem  would  have  been  on  the  old  British  chivalry.  But  as 
the  quarrel  between  Charles  and  the  Parliament  ripened  towards  civil  war,  the  grave  questions  of 
civil  and  religious  liberty  became  to  him  the  great  questions  of  the  hour,  and  not  only  revived 
the  religious  spirit  observable  in  his  earlier  years,  but  deepened  it,  and  gave  it  the  force  of  habit. 

We  have  mentioned  elsewhere  how  Milton  placed  the  manuscript  of  Paradise  Lost  in  the  hand 
of  Elwood,  at  Chalfout;  and  the  remark  of  the  poet’s  Quaker  friend,  that  one  who  had  written  so 
well  on  Paradise  Lost  should  write  on  Paradise  Peyained,  which  led  to  the  writing  ot  that  poem 
since  known  by  that  name.  Milton  returned  to  London  in  1666,  early  probably  in  that  year.  4  he 
check  which  had  been  given  to  book  publishing  in  1665  by  the  Plague,  was  followed  in  September, 
1666,  by  the  Great  Fire  of  London,  which  must  have  been  felt  by  authors  and  booksellers  as  e\  en 
a  greater  discouragement  to  such  enterprises.  But  Milton  had  written  his  Paradise  Regained  loi 
the  most  part,  if  not  entirely,  away  from  his  books,  in  bis  humble  retreat  at  Chalfout  ;  and  had 
written  his  greater  poem  amidst  the  ceaseless  distractions  occasioned  by  the  agitation  and  perils 
which  beset  the  Commonwealth  through  the  first  five  years  of  its  existence,  and  amidst  the  many 
disheartening  events  which  attended  the  Restoration.  It  was  in  keeping  with  his  elastic  energy 
and  hopefulness,  that  Milton  now  trod  the  pathways  of  the  city  where  the  pestilence  had  lately 
sent  such  horrors  into  every  dwelling;  and  where,  from  the  late  fire,  whole  streets  were  still  in 


xxxvxn 


THE  LIFE  OF  .JOHN  MILTON. 


ruins  and  desolation,  liis  object  being  to  find  a  bibliopolist  wbo  might  be  courageous  enough  to 
undertake  the  publication  of  on  epic  poem  in  ten  books. 

Milton  found  the  man  he  sought  in  the  person  of  Samuel  Simmons.  Every  one  has  heard  of 
the  terms  of  agreement  between  the  poet  and  this  publisher.  The  author  received  £5  when  the 
contract  was  signed.  Should  1,300  of  the  first  edition  be  sold  he  was  to  receive  another  £5. 
Should  the  same  number  of  the  second  edition  be  sold  he  was  to  receive  the  same  sum,  and  so  of 
a  third  edition;  and  no  edition  was  to  exceed  1,500  copies.  So  the  sale  of  more  than  4,000  copies 
was  not  to  secure  to  the  author  more  than  £20.  The  first  edition  was  advertised  as  neatly  bound, 
and  as  to  be  sold  for  three  shillings.  Milton's  agreement  with  Simmons  was  signed  April  27tli, 
1067.  On  April  26th,  1669,  he  received  his  second  £5,  the  sale  of  the  work  in  two  years  having 
reached  the  required  amount,  1,300.  The  second  edition  was  not  printed  until  1674,  from  which 
Milton  did  not  live  to  receive  anything.  So  the  entire  sum  which  came  to  his  hands  for  the 
Paradise  Lost  was  £10.  The  second  edition  was  sold  in  four  years;  and  on  printing  a  third  edition, 
in  1681,  Simmons  gave  Milton's  widow  £8,  as  the  price  of  the  copyright.  From  the  hands  of 
Simmons  that  right  passed  to  the  bookseller  Brabazon  Aylmer,  who  purchased  it  for  £25;  and  in 
1683  it  passed  from  Aylmer  to  Jacob  Tonson,  at  a  considerably  higher  price.  In  twenty  years  six 
editions  were  published,  and  between  7,000  and  8,000  copies  must  have  been  sold.  In  1688  a 
handsome  folio  edition  made  its  appearance,  under  the  patronage  of  the  great  Whig  lawyer,  Lord 
Somers,  giving  a  list  of  more  than  500  subscribers,  including  the  names  of  a  large  number  of  the 
most  eminent  persons  in  rank  and  literature.  These  facts  speak  much  more  favourably  for  the 
public  of  that  time  than  for  the  book  trade. 

Milton's  English  History,  which  had  occupied  so  much  of  his  thoughts  at  intervals,  was  not 
published  until  1670.  It  was  then  much  mutilated  by  the  Licensor,  and  is  supposed  by  some  to 
have  been  interpolated  afterwards,  under  the  pretence  of  restoring  the  suppressed  passages.  In 
1671  appeared  the  Paradise  Regained,  along  with  the  Samson  Agonistes.  In  1673  the  poet  sent  forth 
his  Treatise  of  True  Religion,  Heresy,  Schism,  Toleration ,  and  what  Fust  Means  may  he  used  against  the 
Growth  of  Popery.  At  that  time  the  country  was  becoming  daily  more  and  more  alarmed,  and  not 
without  reason,  in  the  prospect  of  a  Popish  successor  to  the  throne,  and  the  possible  new 
ascendency  of  Romanism.  Milton  urges  all  Protestants  to  make  the  keeping  out  of  that  common 
enemy  their  common  cause.  In  this  year  also  Milton  reprinted  his  early  poems,  with  some 
additions  and  corrections,  and  his  Tractate  on  Education;  but  in  its  punctuation,  and  in  some  other 
respects,  this  edition  was  less  accurate  than  the  former.  In  1674,  the  last  year  of  his  life,  the 
venerable  bard  published  his  familiar  Letters  in  Latin;  and  a  translation  of  the  Declaration  of  the 
Poles  in  favour  of  John  III.,  from  the  Latin,  which  appeared  in  that  year,  was  attributed  to  him. 

Milton  suffered  considerably  from  gout  during  his  later  years,  and  is  said  to  have  died  of  that 
malady.  On  the  8th  of  November,  in  the  sixty-sixth  year  of  his  age,  in  his  house  in  Bunhill 
Fields,  the  spirit  of  Milton  passed  into  the  world  of  spirits.  1 1  is  disease  seems  to  have  taken 
place  without  much  immediate  premonition,  but  he  had  for  some  while  the  presentiment  that  it 
was  not  distant,  and  his  anticipations  of  it  in  the  midst  of  his  family  were  calm,  self-possessed,  and 
without  any  sign  of  fear.  Ilis  remains  were  placed  beside  those  of  his  father  in  the  chancel  of 
St.  Giles,  Cripplegate.  Toland  says  that  his  funeral  was  attended  “  by  all  his  learned  and  great 
friends  in  London,  not  without  a  friendly  concourse  of  the  vulgar.” 

In  his  person  Milton  was  below  rather  than  above  the  middle  stature.1  The  feminine  beauty 


1  Aubrey. 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


XXXIX 


which  distinguished  him  in  his  youth,  settled  into  a  manly  symmetry  of  features  as  he  grew  older. 
His  portraits  show  that  he  wore  his  hair  parted  in  front,  and  falling  in  curls  on  his  shoulders.  It 
was  of  a  lightish  brown  colour,  but  his  eyes  were  grey,  and  retained  their  natural  appearance  even 
when  light  had  passed  from  them.  When  in  the  vigour  of  his  days,  his  air  was  erect  and  daunt¬ 
less.  An  aged  clergyman  who  had  seen  him  in  his  later  years,  describes  him  as  seated  in  a  small 
chamber  hung  with  rusty  green,  in  an  elbow  chair,  dressed  in  black;  pale,  but  not  cadaverous, 
his  hands  and  fingers  gouty,  and  with  chalk  stones.  He  used  also  to  sit,  it  is  said,  in  a  grey,  warm 
cloth  coat  at  the  door  of  his  house  near  Buuhill  Fields,  in  warm  sunny  weather,  to  enjoy  the  fresh 
air.1  And  so,  as  well  in  his  room,  he  received  the  visits  of  persons  of  distinguished  parts  as  well 
as  quality.  His  gout  could  not  have  come  from  his  rich  living,  inasmuch  as  his  abstemiousness 
was  one  of  his  marked  habits.  He  took  little  wine,  and  was  very  simple  in  his  diet.  In  early  life 
he  injured  his  sight  and  general  health  by  night  study;  subsequently,  he  learnt  to  get  a  fair 
night’s  rest,  going  to  bed  at  nine,  and  rising  in  the  summer  at  four,  in  the  winter  at  five.  Should 
he  not  be  disposed  to  rise  at  that  hour,  some  one  commoulyr  read  to  him.  After  rising,  he  listened 
to  the  reading  of  a  chapter  from  his  Hebrew  Bible.  He  then  followed  his  studies  until  midday. 
After  a  brief  out-door  exercise  he  dined,  then  played  on  the  organ,  or  sang,  or  requested  his  wife, 
who  had  a  good  voice,  to  sing  to  him.  He  then  resumed  his  mental  occupations  until  six;  from  six 
to  eight  he  received  visitors;  between  eight  and  nine  he  took  a  supper  of  olives  and  some  light 
food,  smoked  his  pipe  of  tobacco,  drank  his  glass  of  water,  and  retired  to  rest.  One  of  his  biogra- 
raphers  says,  he  had  “  gravity  in  his  temper,  not  melancholy,  or  not  till  the  latter  part  of  his  life; 
not  sour,  nor  morose,  or  ill-natured,  but  a  certain  serenity  of  mind,  a  mind  not  condescending  to 
little  things.”2  Aubrey,  who  says  that  lie  was  satirical — which,  no  doubt,  he  was  on  the  fitting 
occasion — further  says,  that  “  he  would  be  very  cheerful  even  in  his  gouty,  fits,  and  sing.”  We 
learn  also  from  his  youngest  daughter  that  “  her  father  was  delightful  company,  the  life  of  the 
conversation,  and  that  on  account  of  a  flow  of  subject,  and  an  unaffected  cheerfulness  and  civ¬ 
ility.”  There  was  a  time  when  the  spoils  of  the  vanquished  lay  thick  about  him,  but  he  touched 
them  not.  He  lived  a  simple  and  honest  life,  and  lived  it  to  the  end. 

The  biographers  of  Milton,  for  the  most  part,  lament  that  he  should  have  allowed  his  genius  to 
be  diverted  as  it  was  during  some  twenty  years,  from  poetry  to  politics.  But  the  politics  which 
attracted  him  were  not  ordinary  politics.  The  crisis  had  come  in  which  it  was  to  be  determined 
whether  England  should  be  free  or  not  free — the  home  of  a  manly  liberty,  or  the  puling  imitator  of 
the  servile  monarchies  of  the  Continent.  And  there  are  men  who  are  not  born  to  live  to  them¬ 
selves,  but  to  their  country  and  to  humanity.  Such  men  can  take  up  the  cross,  and  put  even  the 
gratification  of  taste  in  abeyTance,  that  duty  may  be  done.  But  such  men  are  comparatively  few, 
and  Milton  holds  a  foremost  place  with  that  few.  His  poetry  does  high  honour  to  his  genius;  his 
services  as  a  patriot  do  no  less  honour  to  his  moral  worth.  He  tells  rrs  that  to  have  a  conscience 
that  should  not  be  continually  upbraiding  him,  it  was  indispensable  that  lie  should  subordinate 
even  his  love  of  poetry  to  the  love  of  his  countryr  and  of  liberty.  But,  to  use  his  own  illustration, 
in  these  secular  strifes  it  was  his  left  hand  only  that  was  put  forth ;  his  right— the  higher  skill  and 
force  of  his  nature — found  its  true  sphere  in  higher  things.  His  political  writings,  however,  open 
as  they  may  be  to  exception,  were  a  powerful  momentum  on  the  side  of  general  freedom;  and  one 
which,  in  common  with  much  like  it,  did  not  die  out,  as  is  too  commonly  supposed,  at  the  Res¬ 
toration.  Without  the  revolution  which  dates  from  1640,  we  should  hardly  have  seen  that  which 
dates  from  1688. 

1  Richardson’s  Life  of  Milton. 


*  Richardson. 


xl 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


But  our  great  poet,  as  may  sometimes  be  seen  in  men  more  native  to  state  questions,  was  to 
evince  greater  skill  in  demolishing  bad  things,  than  in  constructing  the  better  things  which 
should  come  into  their  place.  According  to  the  general  apprehension,  Milton  was  a  stern  repub¬ 
lican;  but,  in  fact,  he  was  for  government  as  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  wisest  and  the  best;  and 
whether  the  wisest  and  the  best  might  be  most  probably  found  in  a  republic,  in  an  oligarchy,  in  a 
monarchy,  or  in  such  elements  combined,  were  subordinate  questions— questions  simply  concerning 
the  relations  of  means  to  ends.  Judging  of  monarchy  from  what  it  had  commonly  been,  and  from 
what  it  had  been  recently  in  this  country,  he  saw  no  hope  for  the  nation  in  that  direction.  Hence 
the  great  point  with  him  came  to  be,  how  to  adjust  the  machinery  of  a  popular  government  so  as  to 
secure  from  it  the  greatest  measure  of  advantage,  and  to  guard  the  most  effectively  against  the 
disadvantages  incident  to  it.  Nothing  was  further  from  his  thoughts  than  that  the  best  rule 
would  be  the  rule  of  the  multitude.  He  would  have  had  each  country  town  a  city,  and  every  such 
city  a  sort  of  Florence  or  Venice,  entrusted  with  large  legislative  and  administrative  powers. 
Above  these  he  would  have  placed,  not  a  house  of  commons,  but  a  grand  council,  which  should  be 
permanent,  and  possessed  of  supreme  authority;  and  in  giving  existence  to  this  council,  he  says, 
it  would  “  be  well  to  qualify  and  refine  elections;  not  committing  all  to  the  noise  and  shouting  of  a 
rude  multitude,  but  permitting  those  of  them  who  are  rightly  qualified  to  nominate  as  many  as 
they  will;  and  out  of  that  number,  others  of  a  better  breeding  to  choose  a  less  number  more 
judiciously;  till,  after  a  third  or  fourth  sitting  and  refining  of  exactest  choice,  they  only  be  left 
chosen  who  are  the  due  number,  and  seem  by  most  voices  the  worthiest.”  1 

It  is  in  vain  to  say  that  Milton  did  not  know  human  nature  But  it  is  clear  from  these  specu¬ 
lations  that  he  had  failed  duly  to  estimate  some  of  the  most  rooted  and  characteristic  tendencies 
of  the  English  people.  Their  institutions,  like  all  institutions  of  a  natural  and  healthy  descrip¬ 
tion,  had  been  a  growth  from  their  social  life.  Nothing  in  them  had  found  a  place  there  simply 
from  its  having  commended  itself  to  abstract  thought,  or  from  its  promising  well  upon  paper. 
Everything  had  come  with  an  exigency,  and  things  had  been  retained  purely  from  their  adaptation 
to  exigencies.  But  to  adjust  themselves  to  Milton's  republic,  the  nation  needed  to  forget  nearly 
all  the  traditions,  forms,  and  feelings  of  the  past,  and  to  substitute  an  order  of  things  which 
should  be  made,  in  the  place  of  an  order  of  things  which  had  grown.  To  expect  a  course  of  this 
nature  from  an  intelligent  man  would  be  to  expect  much  ;  to  expect  it  from  a  people,  and,  above 
all,  from  a  people  so  attached  to  their  old  paths  as  the  English,  was  to  expect  unreasonably.  As 
a  politician  our  great  bard  enunciated  many  grand  truths;  but  the  application  of  those  truths  to 
the  actual  circumstances  of  mankind  demanded  a  more  flexible  habit  of  thought,  and  a  more 
flexible  temper,  than  Milton  brought  to  the  science  of  politics.  Cromwell  knew  the  majority  of 
the  nation  to  be,  in  some  form  or  other,  Royalists,  and  that  to  leave  the  future  of  government  to 
the  suffrage  of  the  nation  would  be  to  vote  the  destruction  of  the  republic.  But  Milton  beguiled 
himself  with  the  notion  of  what  the  nation  might  do,  or  ought  to  do.  Cromwell,  from  his  stronger 
political  insight,  saw  what  the  nation  would  do,  if  left,  to  itself,  and  he  acted  accordingly. 

In  regard  to  religious  belief,  Milton  was  in  substantial  agreement  with  his  age  and  his 
country.  The  home  of  his  youth  was  of  the  Puritan  type,  and  his  own  piety,  while  it  embraced 
some  free  elements  of  its  own,  as  the  natural  result  of  his  special  intelligence  and  culture,  never 
ceased  to  be  mainly  of  the  Puritan  spirit  and  complexion.  At  his  decease  he  left  two  works  in 
manuscript — a  History  of  Muscovy ,  published  soon  afterwards  ;  and  an  elaborate  treatise  on 


1  The  Ready  and  Easiest  Way  to  Establish  a  Free  Commomrealth. 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON. 


xli 


Christian  Doctrine ,  which  remained  unknown  to  the  world  until  published,  with  a  translation  from 
the  Latin,  in  the  iirst  quarter  of  the  present  century.  It  is  certain,  t  hat  until  nearly  forty  years 
of  age,  Milton  was  a  Trinitarian  and  Calvinist.  On  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity  his  opinion  was  to 
undergo  some  change;  but  we  have  uo  evidence  of  that  change  until  the  publication  of  the 
Paradise  Lost ,  when  his  age  was  verging  upon  sixty.  In  that  poem  there  were  some  obscure  and 
unusual  expressions  concerning  the  persons  commonly  regarded  as  Co-equal  and  One  in  the 
Godhead.  But  it  was  left  to  the  publication  of  the  volume  on  Christian  Doctrine  to  show  that  the 
ideas  which  seemed  to  be  expressed  in  those  passages  were  the  ideas  intended.  In  that  work  the 
Son  is  represented  as  the  highest  of  created  natures,  but  still  as  created ;  and  the  Holy  Spirit, 
while  represented  as  a  person,  is  supposed  to  be  next  in  being  to  the  Son.  But  it  should  be 
distinctly  remembered,  that  this  conception  did  not  at  all  affect  the  opinions  of  Milton  on  other 
points  of  theology.  When  this  change  came  all  beside  remained  as  it  was.  He  still  believed  in 
the  Fall  of  man,  and  in  its  consequences  in  relation  to  the  race;  in  Redemption  by  Christ,  in 
pardon  through  his  atonement,  in  justification  by  his  Righteousness,  and  in  the  Regenerating 
power  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  Redemption  came,  in  his  view,  from  a  trinity  of  persons,  though  not  of 
co-equal  persons  ;  and  from  a  trinity  of  offices,  though  not  of  offices  sustained  by  persons  of  the 
same  nature  and  authority. 

Milton’s  critics  often  express  their  wonder  that  so  marvellous  a  drama  as  Paradise  Lost  should 
have  been  found  under  the  very  faint  jottings  transmitted  to  us  in  the  earlier  chapters  of  Genesis. 
But  the  truth  is,  Milton  did  not  find  the  materials  for  his  poem  within  that  compass.  He  believed, 
as  all  sound  critics  believe  still,  that  the  earlier  portions  of  Revelation  find  their  true  exposition 
in  the  later.  Paradise  Lost  is  not  founded  on  Genesis:  it  rests,  in  common  with  the  theology  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  on  the  Scriptures  as  a  whole.  Until  some  time  after  Milton's  day,  nearly 
every  one  who  believed  in  Christianity  at  all,  believed  in  it  very  much  after  his  manner. 

It  has  been  brought  as  a  serious  charge  against  Milton,  that  in  his  latei  years  he  was  not 
known  to  be  connected  with  any  church,  nor  as  engaging  in  any  form  of  public  worship.  But 
those  who  prefer  this  accusation  seem  to  forget  that  Milton’s  ecclesiastical  quarrel  had  been  with 
the  great  Presbsterian  party,  hardly  less  than  with  the  Church  of  England  men;  that,  in  his  later 
years,  the  only  church  permitted  to  exist  was  the  Church  of  England;  that  to  have  taken  part  in 
any  worship  not  of  that  church  would  have  been  to  violate  the  law,  and  to  have  incurred  the 
hazard  of  line  and  imprisonment.  It  is  true,  had  liberty  of  worship  been  granted,  Milton  would 
hardly  have  found  a  church  with  a  creed  the  strict  counterpart  of  his  own.  But  had  such  liberty 
been  ceded,  we  have  little  doubt  but  occasions  would  have  come  in  which  he  would  have  availed 
himself  of  it.  Worshippers  may  be  agreed  sufficiently  to  become  one  in  worship  without  being 
agreed  in  everything. 

Of  Dr.  Johnson’s  critique  on  Milton  we  have  said  little.  The  man  who  could  tell  his  readers 
that  he  judges  Milton  to  have  been  capable  of  forging  a  prayer  to  be  interpolate  in  the  Eikon 
Dasilike,  that  he  might  found  upon  it  a  malignant  charge  against  the  king,  had  put  himself  out  ot 
court  as  a  witness  on  any  question  in  which  the  reputation  of  the  author  of  Paradise  Lost  is  con¬ 
cerned.  Mr.  De  Quincey,  himself  a  Toi’y,  and  far  enough  removed  from  Puritanism,  has  given  ex¬ 
pression  to  his  judgment  and  feeling  aS  to  the  conduct  of  Johnson  towards  Milton  in  words  of 
studied  severity,  and  we  can  hardly  say  with  more  severity  than  truth.  “As  regards  Dr.  Johnson, 
he  writes,  “  am  I  the  man  that  would  suffer  him  to  escape  under  the  trivial  impeachment  of 
‘prejudice?’  Dr.  Johnson,  viewed  in  relation  to  Milton,  was  a  malicious,  mendacious,  and  dis¬ 
honest  mail.  He  was  met  by  temptations  many  and  strong  to  falsehood,  and  these  temptations  he 


xlii 


THE  LIFE  OF  .JOHN  MILTON. 


hail  not  tlie  virtue  to  resist.”1  But,  in  fact,  it  was  not  in  the  nature  of  Johnson  to  understand 
Miiton.  Johnson  found  his  paradise  in  the  streets  of  London,  and  for  them  could  readily  dispense 
with  the  paradise  which  Milton  had  created.  With  Milton,  religion  and  government  were  the  great 
interests  of  humanity.  With  Johnson,  religion  was  an  inliuence  which  awed  and  depressed  the 
soul,  in  place  of  tilling  it  with  lofty  and  rapturous  aspirations;  and  as  for  government,  men  should 
be  very  thankful  for  such  as  George  111.  was  disposed  to  give  them.  Human  nature,  as  depicted 
by  Johnson,  is  a  poor  nature— poor  for  this  world,  poor  for  the  next;  as  depicted  by  Milton,  its 
capabilities  are  divine,  and  the  perfection  seen  to  be  possible  to  it  he  proclaims  as  the  prophesy 
of  its  destiny.  The  poet  may  have  dwelt  so  much  in  the  region  of  the  ideal  as  to  have  over-rated 
the  actual  about  him  ;  but  the  moralist  so  under-rated  the  actual  as  to  have  been  without  power  to 
ascend  into  the  ideal.  Johnson  could  analyse  and  estimate  human  beings  as  developed  in  city  life 
as  no  other  man  could;  but  human  beings  rising  into  fellowship  with  the  angels  were  far  above  his 
sphere.  Better,  infinitely  better,  to  have  been  disappointed  with  Milton,  than  never  to  have  hoped 
like  Johnson.  But  why  do  we  speak  of  disappoimtment  ?  The  fame  of  the  poet  is  a  grand  reality; 
the  angel-world  into  which  his  spirit  has  passed  is  in  reality  still  more  grand  ;  and  the  principles, 
which  still  come  to  us  from  his  voice  are  among  the  noblest  known  to  human  thought,  and  will 
last  on. 


1  Woi'ks,  vol.  x.,  p.  97. 


✓ 


I 


INTRODUCTION. 


rJ^'HE  general  impression  concerning  Shakespeare  is  that  he  was  a  man  little  influenced  by  the 
love  of  fame;  and  little  interested  in  the  struggle  relating  to  civil  and  religious  liberty 
which  was  becoming  daily  stronger  in  his  time  and  was  soon  to  bring  on  a  civil  war.  In  these 
respects  Milton  was  another  man  His  reverence  for  humanity  in  its  higher  forms,  made  him 
desire  to  have  a  place  in  its  memory,  and  in  its  great  heart  in  the  time  to  come.  In  this  sense  he 
was  ambitious,  and  made  no  secret  of  being  so;  while  in  regard  to  freedom  generally,  such  was  his 
estimate  of  its  tendency  to  develop  and  ennoble  manhood,  that  to  secure  its  influence  to  his 
country,  he  may  be  said  to  have  placed  his  master  passion — his  love  of  poetry — in  abeyance  for 
half  a  lifetime,  and  during  that  interval,  not  only  to  have  brought  himself  to  blindness  in  its  cause, 
but  to  have  exposed  himself  to  the  utmost  hazard.  His  convictions,  as  a  Christian  and  a  patriot, 
were  enlightened,  serious,  and  deeply  seated.  Men  of  his  order  must  live  to  gieat  moral  and  re¬ 
ligious  ends.  Shakespeare,  in  his  vocation,  was  always  a  man  of  comparative  purity,  more  so  in 
his  later  years;  but  he  could  make  vice  furnish  amusement  as  Milton  never  could.  The  forbidden, 
whether  in  the  shape  of  levity  or  malignity,  is  always  presented  by  our  epic  poet  in  its  true 
colours,  and  never  fails  of  its  reward.  It  is  something  to  be  able  to  say  of  the  greatest  of  our 
bards,  that  he  was  one  of  the  best  of  men.  The  fruits  of  his  genius,  accordingly,  may  well  find 
their  home  in  the  purest  households.  '  •  . .  ... 

What  the  genius  of  Milton  was  the  intelligence  of  his  country  has  at  length  fairly  recognised. 
In  his  day  the  Bible  was  regarded  as  a  treasure  which  had  beeu  lost  and  found.  Not  more  than 
three  generations  had  passed  since  it  had  been  rescued  from  the  most  guarded  secresy,  and  made 
to  be  a  home  possession  with  our  people.  Great  was  the  value  attached  to  it:  simple,  earnest,  and 
unshaken  was  the  faith  reposed  in  it.  Statesmen  like  Burleigh,  soldiers  like  Raleigh,  scholars  like 
Bacon,  patriots  like  Elliot  and  Hampden,  knelt  before  this  oracle  in  the  spirit  of  little  children. 
Its  utterances  were  to  them  unerring,  authoritative,  final.  Milton  came  in  the  wake  of  such  men 
and  resembled  them.  From  the  Bible  his  spirit  received  a  divine  baptism — a  baptism  renewed 
and  deepened  day  by  day.  His  epic,  accordingly,  is  neither  military  nor  romantic;  it  is  religious 
and  theological.  Such  was  his  age,  and  such  is  this  great  offspring  of  his  genius. 

Satan  is  not,  as  some  critics  allege,  the  hero  of  “  Paradise  Lost.”  Nor  is  that  place  assigned 
to  Adam:  it  is  given  to  the  Messiah.  It  must  be  confessed,  however,  that  to  have  made  the  sym¬ 
metry  of  the  inspiration  complete,  the  “  Paradise  Regained  ”  should  have  been  wrought  in  with  the 
“  Paradise  Lost.”  We  might  have  dispensed  with  much  in  the  closing  portions  of  the  latter  poem 
to  have  made  room  for  such  a  sequel.  The  “  Paradise  Lost  ”  presents  the  epic  elements  of  conflict, 
suffering,  and  retribution;  but  the  actor  designed  especially  to  embody  the  ideas  of  suffering  and 
triumph,  does  not  take  an  adequate  part  in -the  scenes  which  pass  before  us.  We  need  to  follow 
him  from  the  first  poem  to  the  second  to  see  him  hold  his  due  place  in  the  great  scheme  of  events. 

Great  were  the  difficulties  to  be  surmounted  in  the  treatment  of  such  a  theme.  Homer  and  Virgil 
blend  the  natural  and  the  supernatural;  but  the  gods  and  goddesses  at  their  disposal  were  so  human¬ 
ised  already  in  the  imagination  of  their  contemporaries,  as  to  be  little  other  than  men  and  vomen. 

xliii 


xliv 


\ 


INTRODUCTION. 

Rut  it  was  not  so  with  Milton.  The  angel  forms  in  Scripture,  indeed,  are  human;  but  they  are 
still  ethereal.  They  soar  into  the  air,  they  pass  through  the,  they  penetrate  dungeons  and  are  im¬ 
pervious  to  matter.  Their  homes,  too,  like  themselves,  must  be  impalpable  to  sense.  How,  then, 
describe  the  one  or  the  other?  As  the  Bible  gave  the  poet  his  subject,  so  it  gave  him  his  manner 
of  dealing  with  it.  Ilis  angels  take  the  human  form — that  form  as  we  may  imagine  it  in  heaven  or 
hell.  Ilis  heaven  gives  us  the  earth  again,  but  the  earth  rising  to  a  loftier  grandeur;  and  clothed 
in  a  more  lustrous,  manifold,  and  mysterious  beauty,  nis  hell  brings  together  the  dark  and 
terrible  shadows  sometimes  present  to  us  in  this  material  world — the  darkness  becoming  still  more 
dark,  the  terror  still  more  terrific.  Every  vision  and  hint  in  the  Scriptures  on  these  subjects,  is 
treasured  and  pondered,  until  it  becomes  suggestive,  expands,  and  suffices  as  an  outline  to  be  filled 
up  by  the  imagination.  And  wonderful  is  the  creative  power  which  fills  up  those  voids.  Those 
whom  Milton  has  led  into  his  paradise  never  forget  that  they  have  been  there;  those  who  have 
ascended  with  him  into  his  regions  of  light  never  cease  to  be  conscious  of  the  sights  which  have 
there  fascinated  them;  and  those  who  have  stood  in  the  midst  of  his  “darkness  visible,”  and  gazed 
on  what  was  to  be  seen  in  that  land  where  “the  light  is  as  darkness,”  have  passed  through  experi¬ 
ences  which  have  become  a  part  of  their  being.  It  is  common  to  speak  of  the  sublimity  of  Milton 
as  the  highest  attribute  of  his  genius;  but  only  the  inspiration  which  stretched  out  the  light  and 
darkness  of  his  upper  and  nether  worlds,  could  have  made  us  dream  of  the  beauties  of  his 
Paradise  as  we  now  do. 

Shakespeare  transcends  all  other  writers  in  the  apparent  ease  with  which  his  ideas  seem  to 
find  birth  and  expression;  and  in  the  variety  of  characters  which  he  places,  as  with  the  touch  of  an 
enchanter,  upon  his  canvass,  In  what  Milton  does  there  is  generally  a  perceptible  effect.  But 
sonrn  an’marauces  of  this  nature  were  inseparable  from  a  subject  so  lofty  in  its  aim,  and  to  the  suc¬ 
cessful  presentation  of  which  a  sustained  elevation  of  an  extraordinary  description  was  indispen¬ 
sable.  It  is  true  Milton  does  sometimes  tell  you  by  his  manner  that  he  means  to  say  great  and 
eloquent  things.  But  then  he  does  not  disappoint  you — the  things  are  said.  Only  a  mind  thus 
self-conscious  could  have  achieved  such  success  in  relation  to  such  a  subject.  With  regard  to 
variety  of  character,  it  becomes  us  to  inquire  what  the  variety  proper  to  such  a  history  really  is,  and 
then  to  ask  whether  the  writer  has  realised,  in  this  respect,  the  thing  to  have  been  expected  from 
him  “  Paradise  Lost  ”  was  not  a  stage  on  which  to  exhibit  the  ways  of  clowns  and  court  fools: 
it  has  to  do  with  beings  who  are  in  earnest,  and  awful  in  their  goodness  or  in  their  ruin.  Any 
attempt  to  admix  the  grave  and  the  gay  in  such  a  narrative  would  have  been  monstrous.  It  would 
be  easy  to  show  that  nothing  could  be  moie  true  to  nature  than  the  distinct  traits  with  which  the 
poet  has  adorned  the  manhood  and  womanhood  of  our  first  parents;  and  that  among  the  good  in 
heaven,  and  the  bad  in  hell,  the  shades  of  difference  in  character  are  often  well  presented.  Abdiel 
is  not  a  duplicate  of  Gabriel,  nor  is  Michael  of  Raphael;  and  wide  is  the  space  which  separted  be¬ 
tween  Moloch  and  Belial,  Mammon  and  Beelzebub.  These  all  have  their  own  utterances  ;  and  Satan, 
by  his  higher  intelligence,  his  pride  of  heart  and  strength  of  will,  has  his  place  apart  from  and  above 
them  all.  So  wonderful  is  he,  that  he  throws  a  spell  over  the  reader  through  the  early  stages  of 
this  poem.  But  it  is  soon  broken.  As  the  drama  develops  itself,  the  feeling  of  interest  in  his  fate 
gives  place  to  a  feeling  of  aversion  and  execration.  It  may  seem  strange  that  a  being  so  often  baffled, 
humbled,  prostrated,  should  persist  in  his  course,  and  seem  to  be  hopeful.  But  we  know  not  the 
space  allowed  to  the  power  of  self-illusion  in  the  case  of  such  natures;  and  we  know  enough  of 
moral  agents  in  this  world,  to  bo  aware  that  when  “  a  deceived  heart  has  turned  them  aside,”  to  be 
doomed  to  “  feed  on  ashes  ”  is  not  to  be  reclaimed.  The  power  to  say,  “  Is  there  not  a  lie  in  my 


INTRODUCTION. 


xlv 


right  hand  ?  ”  seems  to  pass  from  them.1  It  should  be  remembered,  too,  that  Satanic  agency  is  far 
from  being  wholly  a  failure.  To  an  intelligence  which  moral  evil  has  disturbed,  nothing  would  be 
more  natural  than  the  persuasion,  that  the  resistance  which  the  Great  Ruler  does  not  at  once 
suppress,  is  resistance  beyond  his  power. 

It  is  proper  to  say  to  the  uninitiated  reader,  that  he  will  find  some  of  the  later  portions  even  of 
this  poem  descend  to  the  didactic,  and  become  comparatively  prosaic.  Some  things  in  it,  also,  are 
open,  we  think,  to  critical  exception.  Ihe  introduction  of  the  Divine  persons  in  direct  dialogue 
before  the  reader,  will  bo  generally  felt  as  an  instance  of  this  nature.  The  same  may  be  said,  per¬ 
haps,  of  the  allegorical  beings  Sin  and  Death,  though  from  the  revival  of  letters  poets  had  been 
fond  of  such  representations.  To  know  what  these  appearances  denote,  is  to  fail  to  realise  them 
as  objects  of  the  imagination.  But  Satan  is  a  reality;  and  nearly  everything  beside  in  this  sublime 
drama,  gives  us  this  impression.  In  mentioning  these  particulars,  we  merely  say  that  the  work  is 
not — as  no  purely  human  work  can  be — wholly  without  fault.  The  general  splendour  so  obscures 
these  faint  blemishes,  that  in  thinking  of  Milton  we  hardly  remember  them. 

Milton’s  blindness  when  the  greater  part  of  his  poetry  was  written  and  published,  must  have 
been  very  unfavourable  to  strict  accuracy.  Errors  may  be  traced  in  his  historical,  and  even  in  his 
classical  allusions,  which  we  feel  sure  would  not  have  had  any  place  in  his  writings  had  he  not 

s 

been  so  much  shut  off  from  books,  and  dependent  on  memory.  There  are  passages,  too,  in  which 
words  seem  to  have  been  misunderstood  by  his  amanuensis,  or  by  the  printer.  No  one  now  thinks 
of  retaining  his  profuse  employment  of  capital  letters  or  his  orthography,  while  in  regard  to  punctu¬ 
ation,  he  must  have  been  especially  dependent  upon  others.  In  this  last  respect,  more  effort  has 
been  made  than  will  be  generally  understood,  in  the  hope  of  rendering  this  Edition  such  as  the 
poet  must  have  desired. 


1  Isa.  xliy.  20. 


. 


, 


PARADISE 


LOST. 


BOOK  I. 

The  First  Book  proposes,  first  in  brief,  the  whole  subject,  man’s  disobedience,  and  the  loss  thereupon  of  Paradise, 
wherein  he  was  placed;  then  touches  the  prime  cause  of  his  fall,  the  Serpent,  or  rather  Satan  in  the  Serpent; 
who,  revolting  from  God,  and  drawing  to  his  side  many  legions  of  angels,  was,  by  the  command  of  God, 
driven  out  of  Heaven,  with  all  his  crew,  into  the  great  deep.  Which  action  passed  over,  the  Poem  hastens 
into  the  midst  of  things,  presenting  Satan  with  his  angels  now  falling  into  Hell,  described  here,  not  in  the 
centre, for  Heaven  and  Earth  may  be  supposed  as  yet  not  made,  certainly  not  yet  accursed,  but  in  a  place  of  utter 
darkness,  fitliest  called  Chaos.  Here  Satan,  with  his  anpels,  lying  on  the  burning  lake,  thunderstruck  and 
astonished,  after  a  certain  space  recovers,  as  from  confusion,  calls  up  to  him  who  next  in  order  and  dignity 
lay  by  him;  they  confer  of  their  miserablj  fall;  Satan  awakens  all  his  legions,  who  lay  till  then  in  the  same 
manner  confounded.  They  rise;  their  numbers;  array  of  battle;  their  chief  leaders  named,  according  to  the 
idols  known  afterward  in  Canaan  and  the  countries  adjoining.  To  these  Satan  directs  his  speech,  comforts 
them  with  hope  yet  of  regaining  Heaven,  but  tells  them  lastly  of  a  new  world,  and  a  new  kind  of  creature 
to  be  created,  according  to  an  ancient  prophecy,  or  report  in  Heaven;  for,  that  angels  were  long  before  this 
visible  creation,  was  the  opinion  of  many  ancient  fathers.  To  find  out  the  truth  of  this  prophecy,  and  what 
to  determine  thereon,  he  refers  to  a  full  council.  What  his  associates  thence  attempt.  Pandemonium,  the 
palace  of  Satan,  rises,  suddenly  built  out  of  the  deep:  the  infernal  peers  there  sit  in  council. 

O  F  man’s  first  disobedience,  and  the  fruit1 

Of  that  forbidden  tree,  wfiose  mortal  taste 
Brought  death  into  the  world,  and  all  our  woe, 

With  loss  of  Eden,  till  one  greater  Man 
Restore  us,  and  regain  the  blissful  seat, 

Sing,  heavenly  Muse,2 3  that  on  the  secret  top 
Of  Oreb,  or  of  Sinai,  didst  inspire 
That  shepherd,  who  first  taught  the  chosen  seed 
In  the  beginning  how  the  heavens  and  earth 


1  Few  things  are  so  fatal  to  the  pleasant  and  profitable  reading  of  an  author,  as  the  distraction  occasioned  by 
profuse,  and  often  trivial,  notes  upon  his  text.  Commentators  on  Milton  have  assigned  a  large  space  to  coincidences 
between  him  and  preceding  writers — a  wonderful  larger  spcce  than  we  should  have  thought  it  worth  while  so  to 
occupy.  We  doubt  not  that  much  the  greater  part  of  those  coincidences  are  coincidences  of  which  the  author  was 
wholly  unconscious;  and  where  it  was  otherwise,  the  matter  is  either  so  trivial  as  not  to  deserve  to  be  mentioned,  or 

the  metal  borrowed  is  borrowed  almost  invariably  that  it  might  receive  an  impress  which  the  genius  of  Milton  only 
could  have  given  to  it.  In  the  annotation  we  submit  to  the  reader,  we  hope  to  distinguish  between  what  may  be 
really  useful,  and  what  would  be  felt  as  only  so  much  incumbrance  and  impediment. 

3  Sing,  heavenly  Muse. — Prayer  for  the  inspiration  breathed  into  the  old  Hebrew  prophets.  Milton’s  third  wife, 
who  survived  him  many  years,  related  of  him  that  he  used  to  compose  his  poetry  chiefly  iu  winter;  and  on  his  waking 
in  a  morning  would  make  her  write  down  sometimes  twenty  or  thirty  verses.  Being  asked  whether  he  did  not  often 
read  Homer  and  Virgil,  she  understood  the  question  as  indicating  a  suspicion  that  he  may  have  made  an  undue  use 
in  some  instances  of  those  authors,  and  answered  with  eagerness — “He  stole  from  nobody  but  the  Muse  who 
inspired  him ;  ”  and  being  asked  by  a  lady  present  who  the  Muse  was,  she  replied — “It  was  God’s  grace,  and  the 
Holy  Spirit  that  visited  him  nightly.” — Newton's  Life  of  Milton.  Richardson  also  says — “  Milton  would  sometimes  lie 
awake  whole  nights,  but  not  a  verse  could  he  make  ;  and  on  a  sudden  his  poetic  fancy  would  rush  upon  him 
with  an  impetus,  or  a  strum." 


2 


PAKAD1SE  LOST. 


[Hook  1.-10-40 


Rose  out  of  Chaos :  or,  if  Sion  hill 

Delight  thee  more,  and  Siloa’s  brook  that  flowed 

Fast  by  the  oracle  of  God,  I  thence 

Invoke  thy  aid  to  my  adventurous  song, 

That,  with  no  middle  flight,  intends  to  soar 
Above  the  Aonian  mount,1  while  it  pursues 
Things  unattemptcd  yet  in  prose  or  rhyme. 

And  chiefly  Thou,  0  Spirit,'  that  dost  prefer 
Before  all  temples  the  upright  heart  and  pure, 

Instruct  me,  for  thou  know’st :  Thou  from  the  first 
Wast  present,  and  with  mighty  wings  outspread, 
Dove-like,  sat’st  brooding  on  the  vast  abyss, 

And  madest  it  pregnant.  What  in  me  is  dark, 

Illumine  ;  what  is  low  raise  and  support ; 

That  to  the  height  of  this  great  argument 
I  may  assert  Eternal  Providence, 

And  justify  the  ways  of  God  to  men. 

Say  first — for  Heaven  hides  nothing  from  thy  view, 
Nor  the  deep  tract  of  Hell — say  first,  what  cause 
Moved  our  grand  parents,3  in  that  happy  state, 

Favoured  of  Heaven  so  highly,  to  fall  off 
From  their  Creator,  and  transgress  His  will 
For  one  restraint,  lords  of  the  world  besides? 

Who  first  seduced  them  to  that  foul  revolt? 

The  infernal  Serpent;  he  it  was,  whose  guile, 

Stirred  up  with  envy  and  revenge,  deceived 
The  mother  of  mankind  ;  wliat  time  his  pride 
Had  cast  him  out  from  Heaven,  with  all  his  host 
Of  rebel  Angels ;  by  whose  aid,  aspiring 
To  set  himself  in  glory  above  his  peers, 

He  trusted  to  have  equalled  the  Most  High, 


1  Above  the  Aonian  Mount. — Mount  Helicon,  ihe  seat  of  the  Greek  Muses.  The  poet  aims  at  higher  things  than 
could  have  come  from  their  inspiration. 

*  And  chiefly  Thou ,  0  Spirit. — It  is  thus  that  Milton  seeks,  not  only  the  inspiration  which  has  given  us  Hebrew 
poetry,  but  that  which  has  given  us  Hebrew  sanctity. 

*  Grand  Parents. — First,  or  great  parents. 


Him  the  Almighty  Power 
Hurled  headlong  Hamiug  from  the  ethereal  sky. 

Book  I. ,  Line*  44,  45. 


1 


Book  I.— 41-74] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


3 


If  he  opposed ;  and,  with  ambitious  aim, 

Against  the  throne  and  monarchy  of  God, 

Raised  impious  war  in  Heaven,  and  battle  proud, 
With  vain  attempt.  Him  the  Almighty  Power 
Hurled  headlong  darning  from  the  ethereal  sky, 

With  hideous  ruin  and  combustion,1  down 
To  bottomless  perdition ;  there  to  dwell 
In  adamantine  chains  and  penal  fire, 

Who  durst  defy  the  Omnipotent  to  arms. 

Nine  times  the  space  that  measures  day  and  night 
To  mortal  men,  he  with  his  horrid  crew 
Lay  vanquished,  rolling  in  the  fiery  gulf, 

Confounded,  though  immortal.  But  his  doom 
Reserved  him  to  more  wrath ;  for  now  the  thought 
Both  of  lost  happiness  and  lasting  pain 
Torments  him.  Round  he  throws  his  baleful  eyes, 
That  witnessed3  huge  affliction  and  dismay, 

Mixed  with  obdurate  pride  and  steadfast  hate. 

At  once,  as  far  as  angels’  ken,  he  views 
The  dismal  situation  waste  and  wild. 

A  dungeon  horrible,  on  all  sides  round, 

As  one  great  furnace,  flamed.  Yet  from  those  flames 
No  light,  but  rather  darkness  visible 
Served  only  to  discover  sights  of  woe, 

Regions  of  sorrow,  doleful  shades,  where  peace 
And  rest  can  never  dwell,  hope  never  comes 
That  comes  to  all ;  but  torture  without  end 
Still  urges,  and  a  fiery  deluge,  fed 
With  ever-burning  sulphur  unconsumed. 

Such  place  eternal  justice  had  prepared 

For  those  rebellious ;  here  their  prison  ordained 

In  utter  darkness,  and  their  portion  set 

As  far  removed  from  God  and  light  of  heaven, 

As  from  the  centre  thrice  to  the  utmost  pole. 


1  Combustion. — Crushed  and  scattered  by  elemental  forces. 


3  That  witnessed. — Expressed — showed. 


4 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  I.— 75-107 


Ob,  how  unlike  the  place  from  whence  they  fell ! 

There  the  companions  of  his  fall,  o’erwhelmed 
With  Hoods  and  whirlwinds  of  tempestuous  fire, 

He  soon  discerns ;  and  weltering  by  his  side 
One  next  himself  in  power,  and  next  in  crime, 

Long  after  known  in  Palestine,1  and  named 
Beelzebub :  to  whom  the  arch-enemy, 

And  thence  in  Heaven  called  Satan,2  with  bold  words 
Breaking  the  horrid  silence,  thus  began : 

If  thou  beest  he ;  but  oh,  how  fallen !  how  changed 
From  him,  who,  in  the  happy  realms  of  light, 

Clothed  with  transcendent  brightness,  didst  outshine 
Myriads,  though  bright !  If  he,  whom  mutual  league, 
United  thoughts  and  counsels,  equal  hope 
And  hazard  in  the  glorious  enterprise, 

Joined  with  me  once,  now  misery  hath  joined 
In  equal  ruin ;  into  what  pit  thou  seest 
From  what  height  fallen,  so  much  the  stronger  proved 
He  with  his  thunder.  And  till  then  who  knew 
The  force  of  those  dire  arms  ?  Yet  not  for  those, 

*  Nor  what  the  potent  Victor  in  his  rage 
Can  else  inflict,  do  I  repent  or  change, 

Though  changed  in  outward  lustre,  that  fixed  mind, 

And  high  disdain  from  sense  of  injured  merit, 

That  with  the  Mightiest  raised  me  to  contend, 

And  to  the  fierce  contention  brought  along 
Innumerable  force  of  Spirits  armed, 

That  durst  dislike  his  reign,  and,  me  preferring, 

II is  utmost  power  with  adverse  power  opposed 
In  dubious  battle  on  the  plains  of  Heaven, 

And  shook  his  throne.  What  though  the  field  be  lost  ? 
All  is  not  lost ;  the  unconquerable  will, 

And  study  of  revenge,  immortal  hate, 


1  Long  after  biown  in  Palastine. — Milton  often  speaks  of  the  heathen  gods  as  being  the  fallen  angels,  practising 
their  frauds  in  that  form  upon  their  victims. 

’.Satan. — Enemy,  in  Hebrew. 


Book;  I. — 108-143] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


5 


And  courage  never  to  submit  or  yield, 

And  what  is  else  not  to  be  overcome ; 

That  glory  never  shall  his  wrath  or  might 
Extort  from  me.  To  bow  and  sue  for  grace 
With  suppliant  knee,  and  deify  His  power 
Who  from  the  terror  of  this  arm  so  late 
Doubted  his  empire — that  were  low  indeed, 

That  w'ere  an  ignominy,  and  shame  beneath 
This  downfall.  Since,  by  fate,  the  strength  of  gods, 
And  this  empyreal  substance,  cannot  fail ; 

Since,  through  experience  of  this  great  event, 

In  arms  not  worse,  in  foresight  much  advanced, 

We  may  with  more  successful  hope  resolve 
To  wage,  by  force  or  guile,  eternal  war, 
Irreconcilable  to  our  grand  Foe, 

Who  now  triumphs,  and,  in  the  excess  of  joy 
Sole  reigning,  holds  the  tyranny  of  Heaven. 

So  spake  the  apostate  angel,  though  in  pain, 

V aunting  aloud,  but  racked  with  deep  despair ; 

And  him  thus  answered  soon  his  bold  compeer : 

0  prince,  0  chief  of  many-throned  powers, 

That  led  the  embattled  seraphim  to  war 
Under  thy  conduct,  and,  in  dreadful  deeds 
Fearless,  endanger’d  heaven’s  perpetual  King, 

And  put  to  proof  His  high  supremacy, 

Whether  upheld  by  strength,  or  chance,  or  fate ; 

Too  well  I  see  and  rue  the  dire  event, 

That  with  sad  overthrow  and  foul  defeat, 

Hath  lost  us  Heaven,  and  all  this  mighty  host 
In  horrible  destruction  laid  thus  low, 

As  far  as  gods  and  heavenly  essences 
Can  perish :  for  the  mind  and  spirit  remain 
Invincible,  and  vigour  soon  returns, 

Though  all  our  glory  extinct,  and  happy  state 
Here  swallowed  up  in  endless  misery. 

But  what  if  He  our  Conqueror — whom  I  now 


(5  PARADISE  LOST.  [Book  1.  — 144-177 

Of  force  believe  Almighty — since  no  less 

Than  such  could  have  o’erpowered  such  force  as  ours — 

Have  left  us  this  our  spirit  and  strength  entire, 

Strongly  to  suffer  and  support  our  pains, 

That  we  may  so  suffice1  His  vengeful  ire, 

Or  do  Him  mightier  service  as  His  thralls3 
By  right  of  war,  whate’er  His  business  be, 

Here  in  the  heart  of  hell  to  work  in  fire, 

Or  to  His  errands  in  the  gloomy  Deep? 

What  can  it  then  avail,  though  yet  we  feel 
Strength  undiminished,  or  eternal  being, 

To  undergo  eternal  punishment  ? 

Whereto  with  speedy  words  the  arch-fiend  replied : 

Fallen  cherub !  to  be  weak  is  miserable, 

Doing  or  suffering  :  but  of  this  be  sure, 

To  do  aught  good  never  will  be  our  task, 

But  ever  to  do  ill  our  sole  delight, 

As  being  contrary  to  His  high  will 
Whom  we  resist.  If  then  His  providence 
Out  of  our  evil  seek  to  bring  forth  good, 

Our  labour  must  be  to  pervert  that  end, 

And  out  of  good  still  to  find  means  of  evil  ; 

Which  oft-times  may  succeed,  so  as  perhaps 
Shall  grieve  him,  if  I  fail  not,  and  disturb 
His  inmost  counsels  from  their  destined  aim. 

But  see !  the  angry  Victor  hath  recalled 

His  ministers  of  vengeance  and  pursuit 

Back  to  the  gates  of  Heaven.  The  sulphurous  hail, 

Shot  after  us  in  storm,  o’erblown,  hath  laid 
The  fiery  surge,  that  from  the  precipice 
Of  Heaven  received  us  falling,  and  the  thunder, 

Winged  with  red  lightning  and  impetuous  rage, 

Perhaps  hath  spent  his  shafts,  and  ceases  now 
To  bellow  through  the  vast  and  boundless  Deep. 


1  Suffice. — Satisfy. 


Thrall*. — Anglo  Saxon  for  slaves.  Hence  our  word  thraldom. 


Book  I— 178-209] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


7 


Let  us  not  slip  the  occasion,  whether  scorn, 

Or  satiate  fury,  yield  it  from  our  Foe. 

Seest  thou  the  dreary  plain,  forlorn  and  wild, 

The  seat  of  desolation,  void  of  light, 

Save  what  the  glimmering  of  these  livid  llames 
Cast  pale  and  dreadful?  Thither  let  us  tend 
From  olf  the  tossing  of  these  fiery  waves, 

There  rest — if  any  rest  can  harbour  there — 

And,  re-assembling  our  afflicted  powers, 

Consult  how  we  may  henceforth  most  offend 
Our  Enemy,  our  own  loss  how  repair, 

How  overcome  this  dire  calamity,. 

What  reinforcement  we  may  gain  from  hope, 

If  not,  what  resolution  from  despair. 

Thus  Satan,  talking  to  his  nearest  mate, 

With  head  uplift  above  the  wave,  and  eyes 
That  sparkling  blazed,  his  other  parts  besides, 

Prone  on  the  flood,  extended  long  and  large, 

Lay  floating  many  a  rood,  in  hulk  as  huge 
As  whom1  the  fables  name  of  monstrous  size, 
Titanian,2  oj*  Eartli-horn,  that  warred  on  Jove; 
Briareus,3  or  Typhon,4  whom  the  den 
By  ancient  Tarsus  held ;  or  that  sea-beast 
Leviathan,  which  God  of  all  His  works 
Created  hugest  that  swim  the  ocean  stream : 

Him,  haply,  slumbering  on  the  Norway  foam, 

The  pilot  of  some  small  night-foundered  skiff’, 
Deeming  some  island,  oft,  as  seamen  tell, 

With  fixed  anchor  in  his  scaly  rind, 

Moors  by  his  side  under  the  lea,  while  night 
Invests  the  sea,  and  wished  morn  delays : — 

So  stretched  out  huge  in  length  the  Arch-fiend  lay 


'As  whom. — As  his  whom 

a  Titanian.— The  Titans,  or  giants,  who  according  to  the  Greek  mythology,  made  war  upon  the  gods. 

3  Briareus. — One  of  three  monster  brothers,  described  as  possessing  a  hundred  arms  and  fifty  heads.  They  are 
said  to  have  given  victory  to  the  gods  over  the  Titans. 

*  Typhon. — A  tempest-producing,  and  sometimes  a  fire-breathing  giant.  Hesiod  makes  Typhaon  and  Typhceus 
two  distinct  monster  powers  of  the  primitive  world. 


K  PARADISE  LOST.  [HOOK  I.— 210-242 

Chained  on  the  burning  lake,  nor  ever  thence 
Had  risen,  or  heaved  his  head,  but  that  the  will 
And  high  permission  of  all-ruling  Heaven 
Left  him  at  large  to  his  own  dark  designs, 

That  with  reiterated  crimes  he  might 
Heap  on  himself  damnation,  while  he  sought 
Evil  to  others ;  and,  enraged,  might  see 
How  all  his  malice  served  but  to  bring  forth 
Infinite  goodness,  grace,  and  mercy,  shown 
On  man  by  him  seduced ;  but  on  himself 
Treble  confusion,  wrath,  and  vengeance,  poured. 

Forthwith  upright  he  rears  from  off  the  pool 
His  mighty  stature.  On  each  hand  the  flames, 

Driven  backward,  slope  their  pointing  spires,  and,  rolled 
In  billows,  leave  in  the  midst  a  horrid  vale. 

Then  with  expanded  wings  he  steers  his  flight 
Aloft,  incumbent  on  the  dusky  air, 

That  felt  unusual  weight,  till  on  dry  land 
He  lights — if  it  were  land  that  ever  burned 
With  solid,  as  the  lake  with  liquid,  fire : 

And  such  appeared  in  hue  as  when  the  force 
Of  subterranean  wind  transports  a  hill 
Torn  from  Pelorus,1  or  the  shattered  side 
Of  thundering  iEtna,  whose  combustible 
And  fuelled  entrails  thence  conceiving  fire, 

Sublimed  with  mineral  fury,  aid  the  winds 
And  leave  a  singed  bottom,  all  involved2 
With  stench  and  smoke.  Such  resting  found  the  sole 
Of  unblessed  feet.  Him  followed  his  next  mate : 

Both  glorying  to  have  ’scaped  the  Stygian3  flood 
As  gods,  and  by  their  own  recovered  strength, 

Not  by  the  sufferance  of  supernal  Power. 

Is  this  the  region,  this  the  soil,  the  clime, 


1  Pelorua. — The  northern  cape  of  Sicily. 

’  All  involved. — Involved  in,  or  along  with. 

*  Stygian. — From  Styx — the  name  of  the  great  river  which  is  said  to  flow  round  the  nether  world  seven  times. 


Forthwith  upright  he  rears  from  off  the  pool 
His  mighty  stature. 


Book  1.,  lines  221,  222. 


Book  I.- 243-276] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


9 


Said  then  the  lost  archangel,  this  the  seat 

That  we  must  change  for  Heaven;  this  mournful  gloom 

For  that  celestial  light?  Be  it  so!  Since  He, 

Who  now  is  Sovran,  can  dispose  and  bid 
What  shall  be  right :  furthest  from  him  is  best, 

Whom  reason  hath  equalled,  force  hath  made  supreme 
Above  His  equals.  Farewell,  happy  fields, 

Where  joy  for  ever  dwells !  Hail,  horrors !  hail, 

Infernal  world !  And  thou,  profoundest  Hell, 

Receive  thy  new  possessor !  One  who  brings 
A  mind  not  to  be  changed  by  place  or  time. 

The  mind  is  its  own  place,  and  in  itself 
•  Can  make  a  Heaven  of  Hell,  a  Hell  of  Heaven. 

What  matter  where,  if  I  be  still  the  same, 

And  what  I  should  be,  all  but  less  than  He 
Whom  thunder  hath  made  greater?  Here  at  least 
We  shall  be  free;  the  Almighty  hath  not  built 
Here  for  his  envy ;  will  not  drive  us  hence. 

Here  we  may  reign  secure,  and,  in  my  choice,1 
To  reign  is  worth  ambition,  though  in  Hell. 

Better  to  reign  in  Hell  than  serve  in  Heaven. 

But  wherefore  let  we  then  our  faithful  friends, 

The  associates  and  copartners  of  our  loss, 

Lie  thus  astonished  on  the  oblivious  pool, 

And  call  them  not  to  share  with  us  their  part 
In  this  unhappy  mansion ;  or  once  more 
With  rallied  arms  to  try  wdiat  may  he  yet 
Regained  in  Heaven,  or  what  more  lost  in  Hell? 

So  Satan  spake ;  and  him  Beelzebub 
Thus  answered :  Leader  of  those  armies  bright, 

Which  but  the  Omnipotent  none  could  have  foiled! 

If  once  they  hear  that  voice,  their  livliest  pledge 
Of  hope  in  fears  and  dangers,  heard  so  oft 
In  worse  extremes,  and  on  the  perilous  edge 


In  my  ehoiee. — In  my  judgment — to  me. 


xO 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  I.—  277- 3u7 


Of  battle,  when  it  raged,  in  all  assaults 
Their  surest  signals,  they  will  soon  resume 
New  courage  and  revive,  though  now  they  lie 
Grovelling  and  prostrate  on  yon  lake  of  tire, 

As  we  erewhile,  astounded  and  amazed. 

No  wonder,  fallen  such  a  pernicious  height. 

He  scarce  had  ceased,  when  the  superior  fiend 
Was  moving  towards  the  shore,  his  ponderous  shield, 

Ethereal  temper,  massy,  large,  and  round, 

Behind  him  cast.  The  broad  circumference 
Hung  on  his  shoulders  like  the  moon,  whose  orb 
Through  optic  glass  the  Tuscan  artist1  views 
At  evening  from  the  top  of  Eesole8 
Or  in  Valdarno,3  to  descry  new  lands, 

Rivers,  or  mountains,  in  her  spotty  globe. 

His  spear,  to  equal  which  the  tallest  pine, 

Hewn  on  Norwegian  hills,  to  be  the  mast 
On  some  great  ammiral,4  were  but  a  wand 
He  walked  with  to  support  uneasy  steps 
Over  the  burning  marl,  not  like  those  steps 
On  Heaven’s  azure,  and  the  torrid  clime 
Smote  on  him  sore  besides,  vaulted  with  tire. 

Nathless  he  so  endured,  till  on  the  beach 
Of  that  inflamed  sea  he  stood,  and  called 
His  legions,  angel  forms,  who  lay  entranced’ 

Thick  as  autumnal  leaves  that  strew  the  brooks 

In  Vallambrosa,®  where  the  Etrurian  shades 

High  overarched  embower,  or  scattered  sedge 

Afloat,  when  with  fierce  winds  Orion  armed 

Hath  vexed  the  Red  Sea  coast,  whose  waves  o’erthrew 

Busiris7  and  his  Memphian  chivalry,8 

1  The  Tuscan  artist. — Galileo,  the  inventor  of  the  telescope. 

*  Fesole. — A  hill  overlooking  Florence  and  the  surrounding  country. 

'  \  aldarnn. — The  seat  of  Florence. 

4  Ammiral. — An  I'nlian  form  of  expression  for  admiral.  The  admiral’s  ship  was  often  called  the  admiral. 

*  Entranced. — Bereft  of  mental  power — incapable  of  action. 

I  all/imbrosa. — A  wooded  distriof  about  eighteen  miles  from  Florence. 

'  Bn  sir  is. — Name  given  to  the  Pharaohs  of  the  Red  Sea. 

*  Memphian  chivalry. — The  horsemen  and  charioteers  who  followed  the  Israelites. 


, 


.* 


' 


•I  ■ '  i 


< 


* 


They  heard,  and  were  abashed,  and  np  they  sprung. 

Book  line  83t. 


3 


Book  I.— 308-341] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


11 


While  with  perfidious  hatred  they  pursued 
The  sojourners  of  Goshen,  who  beheld 
From  the  safe  shore  their  floating  carcases 
And  broken  chariot-wheels  :  so  thick  bestrewn, 

Abject  and  lost  lay  these,  covering  the  flood, 

Under  amazement  of  their  hideous  change. 

He  called  so  loud,  that  all  the  hollow  deep 
Of  Hell  resounded :  Princes,  potentates, 

Warriors,  the  flower  of  Heaven,  once  yours,  now  lost, 

If  such  astonishment  as  this  can  seize 
Eternal  spirits.  Or  have  ye  chosen  this  place 
After  the  toil  of  battle  to  repose 
Your  wearied  virtue,  for  the  ease  you  find 
To  slumber  here,  as  in  the  vales  of  Heaven? 

Or  in  this  abject  posture  have  ye  sworn 
To  adore  the  Conqueror? — who  now  beholds 
Cherub  and  seraph  rolling  in  the  flood, 

With  scatterred  arms  and  ensigns ;  till  anon 
His  swift  pursuers  from  Heaven-gates  discern 
The  advantage,  and  descending,  tread  us  down 
Thus  drooping,  or  with  linked  thunderbolts 
Transfix  us  to  the  bottom  of  this  gulf? 

Awake,  arise,  or  be  for  ever  fallen  ! 

They  heard,  and  were  abashed,  and  up  they  sprung 
Upon  the  wing — as  when  men,  wont  to  watch 
On  duty,  sleeping  found  by  whom  they  dread, 

House  and  bestir  themselves  ere  well  awake. 

Nor  did  they  not  perceive  the  evil  plight 
In  which  they  were,  or  the  fierce  pains  not  feel. 

Yet  to  their  general’s  voice  they  soon  obeyed 
Innumerable.  As  when  the  potent  rod 
Of  Amram’s  son,1  in  Egypt’s  evil  day, 

Waved  round  the  coast,  up  called  a  pitchy  cloud 
Of  locusts,  warping  on  the  eastern  wind 


1  Amrams  son. — Mo&es. 


12 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  I. — 342-375 


That  o’er  the  realm  of  impious  Pharaoh  hung 
Like  night,  and  darkened  all  the  land  of  Nile: 

So  numberless  were  those  bad  Angels  seen, 

Hovering  on  wing,  under  the  cope  of  Hell, 

’Twixt  upper,  nether,  and  surrounding  fires, — 

Till,  at  a  signal  given,  the  uplifted  spear 
Of  their  great  sultan  waving  to  direct 
Their  course,  in  even  balance  down  they  light 
On  the  firm  brimstone,  and  fill  all  the  plain, 

A  multitude,  like  which  the  populous  North 
Poured  never  from  her  frozen  loins,  to  pass 
lihene  or  the  Danaw,1  when  her  barbarous  sons 
Came  like  a  deluge  on  the  south,  and  spread 
Beneath  Gibraltar,  to  the  Libyan  sands. 

Forthwith  from  every  squadron  and  each  band, 

The  heads  and  leaders  thither  haste  where  stood 
Their  great  commander.  Godlike  shapes,  and  forms 
Excelling  human  ;  princely  dignities ; 

And  powers  that  erst  in  Heaven  sat  on  thrones, 
Though  of  their  names  in  heavenly  records  now 
Be  no  memorial,  blotted  out  and  rased 
By  their  rebellion  from  the  Book  of  Life. 

Nor  had  they  among  the  sons  of  Eve 

Got  them  new  names ;  till,  wandering  o’er  the  earth, 

Through  God’s  high  sufferance,  for  the  trial  of  man, 

By  falsities  and  lies  the  greatest  part 

Of  mankind  they  corrupted  to  forsake 

God  their  Creator,  and  the  invisible 

Glory  of  Him  that  made  them  to  transform 

Oft  to  the  image  of  a  brute,  adorned 

With  gay  religions,  full  of  pomp  and  gold, 

And  devils  to  adore  for  deities : 

Then  were  they  known  to  men  by  various  names. 
And  various  idols  through  the  heathen  world. 


•  Rhene  or  the  Danaw. — The  Rhine  or  Danube. 


So  numberless  were  those  bad  Angels  seen, 

Hovering  on  wing,  uuder  the  cope  of  Hell. 

Book  lines  344,  345. 


. 


Book  I.— 376-407] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


13 


Say,  Muse,  their  names  then  known.  Who  first,  who  last. 
Roused  from  the  slumber,  on  that  fiery  couch, 

At  their  great  emperor’s  call,  as  next  in  worth 
Came  singly  where  he  stood  on  the  bare  strand, 

While  the  promiscuous  crowd  stood  yet  aloof. 

The  chief  were  those,  who,  from  the  pit  of  Hell, 

Roaming  to  seek  their  prey  on  earth,  durst  fix 
Their  seats  long  after  next  the  seat  of  God, 

Their  altars  by  His  altar ;  gods  adored 
Among  the  nations  round ;  and  durst  abide 
Jehovah  thundering  out  of  Sion,  throned 
Between  the  cherubim ;  yea,  often  placed 
Within  His  sanctuary  itself  their  shrines, 

Abominations,  and  with  cursed  things 
His  holy  rites  and  solemn  feasts  profaned, 

And  with  their  darkness  durst  affront  His  light. 

Hirst,  Moloch,  horrid  king,  besmeared  with  blood 
Of  human  sacrifice,  and  *  parents’  tears  ; 

Though,  for  the  noise  of  drums  and  timbrels  loud, 

Their  children’s  cries  unheard,  that  passed  through  fire 
To  his  grim  idol.  Him  the  Ammonite 
Worshipped  in  Rabba1  and  her  watery  plain, 

In  Argob  and  in  Basan,  to  the  stream 
Of  utmost  Arnon.  Nor  content  with  such 
Audacious  neighbourhood,  the  wisest  heart 
Of  Solomon  he  led  by  fraud  to  build 
His  temple  right  against  the  temple  of  God, 

On  that  opprobrious  hill,2  and  made  his  grove 
The  pleasant  valley  of  Hinnom,  Tophet  thence 
And  black  Gehenna  called,  the  type  of  Hell.3 
Next,  Chemos,  the  obscene  dread  of  Moab’s  sons, 

From  Aroer  to  Nebo,  and  the  wild 


1  In  Rabba. — Capital  of  the  Ammonites. 

2  That  approbrious  hill. — Made  approbrious  by  the  uses  to  which  it  was  thus  applied. 

s  Type  of  Hell.  —  Tophet  was  originally  a  beautiful  royal  residence  in  the  Valley  of  Hinnom;  but  from  the  abomi¬ 
nations  which  came  to  be  practised  there,  the  later  Jews  were  wont  to  burn  the  bodies  of  malefactors  in  that  quarter, 
and  took  from  it  their  “type  of  hell.” 


14 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Hook  I.— 408-441 


Of  southmost  Abarim ;  in  Hesebon, 

And  Horonaim,  Soon’s  realm,  beyond 
The  flowery  dale  of  Sibma,  clad  with  vines, 

And  Eleale  to  the  asphaltic  pool.1 
Peor  his  other  name,  when  he  enticed 
Israel  in  Sittim,  on  their  march  from  Nile, 

To  do  him  wanton  rites,  which  cost  them  woe. 

Yet  thence  his  lustful  orgies  he  enlarged 
Even  to  that  hill  of  scandal,  by  the  grove 
Of  Moloch  homicide ;  lust  hard  by  hate ; 

Till  good  Josiali  drove  them  hence  to  Hell. 

With  these  came  they,  who,  from  the  bordering  flood 
Of  old  Euphrates  to  the  brook  that  parts 
Egypt  from  Syrian  ground,  had  general  names 
Of  Baalim  and  Aslitaroth  ;  those  male, 

These  feminine  ;  for  spirits,  when  they  please, 

Can  either  sex  assume,  or  both, — so  soft 
And  uncompounded  is  their  essence  pure, 

Not  tied  or  manacled  with  joint  or  limb, 

Nor  founded  on  the  brittle  strength  of  bones, 

Like  cumbrous  flesh,  but,  in  what  shape  they  choose, 
Dilated  or  condensed,  bright  or  obscure, 

Can  execute  their  aery  purposes, 

And  works  of  love  or  enmity  fulfil. 

For  those  the  race  of  Israel  oft  forsook 
Their  Living  Strength,  and  unfrequented  left 
His  righteous  altar,  bowing  lowly  down 
To  bestial  gods;  for  which  their  heads  as  low 
Bowed  down  in  battle,  sunk  before  the  spear 
Of  despicable  foes.  With  these  in  troop 
Came  Astoreth,  whom  the  Phoenicians  called 
Astarte,  queen  of  heaven,  with  crescent  horns, 

To  whose  bright  image  nightly  by  the  moon 
Sidonian  virgins  paid  their  vows  and  songs ; 


1  Atphallic  pool. — The  Dead  Sea. 


Book  I.  —  442-473] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


15 


In  Sion  also  not  unsung,  where  stood 

Her  temple  on  the  offensive  mountain,  built 

By  that  uxorious  king,  whose  heart,  though  large, 

Beguiled  by  fair  idolatresses,  fell 

To  idols  foul.  Thammuz  came  next  behind, 

Whose  annual  wound,  to  Lebanon  allured 
The  Syrian  damsels  to  lament  his  fate 
In  amorous  ditties  all  a  summer’s  day, 

While  smooth  Adonis  from  his  native  rock 
Ban  purple  to  the  sea,  supposed  with  blood, 

Of  Thammuz 1  yearly  wounded :  the  love-tale 
Infected  Sion’s  daughters  with  like  heat, 

Wliose  wanton  passions  in  the  sacred  porch 
Ezekiel  saw,  when,  by  the  vision  led, 

His  eye  surveyed  the  dark  idolatries 
Of  alienated  Judah.8  Next  came  one 
Who  mourned  in  earnest,  when  the  captive  ark 
Maimed  his  brute  image,  heads  and  hands  lopped  off 
In  his  own  temple,  on  the  grunsel  edge,3 
Where  he  fell  flat,  and  shamed  his  worshippers. 
Dagon  his  name,  sea-monster,  upward  man 
And  downward  fish :  yet  had  his  temple  high 
Beared  in  Azotus,  dreaded  throuo-h  the  coast 
Of  Palestine,  in  Gath  and  Ascalon, 

And  Accaron  and  Gaza’s  frontier  bounds. 

Him  followed  Bimmon,  whose  delightful  seat 
Was  fair  Damascus,  on  the  fertile  banks 
Of  Abbana  and  Pharphar,  lucid  streams. 

He  also  ’gainst  the  house  of  God  was  hold : 

A  leper  once  he  lost,  and  gained  a  king ; 

Ahaz,  his  sottish  conqueror,  whom  he  drew 
God’s  altar  to  disparage  and  displace, 


1  Thammuz. — A  god  of  the  Syrians — the  Adonis  of  that  people — said  to  die  every  year  and  to  live  again.  Women 
professed  yearly  to  lament  his  fate,  and  great  sensual  vice,  as  the  mode  of  doing  him  homage,  was  the  result.  (See 
Ezck.  viii.  13,  14.) 
aEzek.  viii.  12. 

Grunsel  edge. — Threshold. 


16 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Hook  I.— 174-509 


For  one  of  Syrian  mode,  whereon  to  burn 

His  odious  offerings,  and  adore  the  gods 

Whom  he  had  vanquished.  After  these  appeared 

A  crew,  who,  under  names  ot  old  renown, 

Osiris,  Isis,  Orus,  and  their  train, 

With  monstrous  shapes  and  sorceries  abused 

Fanatic  Egypt,  and  her  priests,  to  seek 

Their  wandering  gods  disguised  in  brutish  forms 

Rather  than  human.  Nor  did  Israel  ’scape 

The  infection,  when  their  borrowed  gold  composed 

The  calf  in  Oreb ;  and  the  rebel  king 

Doubled  that  sin  in  Bethel  and  in  Dan, 

Likening  his  Maker  to  the  grazed  ox, 

Jehovah,  who,  in  one  night,  when  He  passed 

From  Egypt  marching,  equalled  with  one  stroke 

Both  her  first-born  and  all  her  bleating  gods. 

Belial  came  last,  than  whom  a  spirit  more  lewd 

Fell  not  from  heaven,  or  more  gross  to  love 

Vice  for  itself:  to  him  no  temple  stood, 

Or  altar  smoked :  yet  who  more  oft  than  he 

In  temples  and  at  altars,  when  the  priest 

Turns  atheist,  as  did  Eli’s  sons,  who  filled 

With  lust  and  violence  the  house  of  God? 

/ 

In  courts  and  palaces  he  also  reigns, 

And  in  luxurious  cities,  where  the  noise 
Of  riot  ascends  above  their  loftiest  towers, 

And  injury  and  outrage :  and  when  night 
Darkens  the  streets,  then  wander  forth  the  sons 
Of  Belial,  flown  with  insolence  and  wine. 

Witness  the  streets  of  Sodom,  and  that  night 
In  Gibeali,  when  the  hospitable  door 
Exposed  a  matron,  to  avoid  worse  rape. 

These  were  the  prime  in  order  and  in  might ; 
The  rest  were  long  to  tell,  though  far  renowned, 
The  Ionian  gods,  of  Javan’s  issue  held 
Gods,  yet  confessed  later  than  heaven  and  earth, 


Book  I. -510-543] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


17 


Their  boasted  parents :  Titan,  heaven’s  first-horn, 

With  his  enormous  brood,  and  birthright  seized 
By  younger  Saturn ;  he  from  mightier  Jove, 

His  own  and  lihea’s  son,  like  measure  found. 

So  Jove  usurping  reigned.  These  first  in  Crete, 

And  Ida  known,  thence  on  the  snowy  top 
Of  cold  Olympus  ruled  the  middle  air, 

Their  highest  heaven ;  or  on  the  Delphian  cliff, 

Or  in  Dodona,1  and  through  all  the  hounds 
Of  Doric  land ;  or  who  with  Saturn  old 
Fled  over  Adria  to  the  Hesperian  fields, 

And  o’er  the  Celtic  roamed  the  utmost  isles. 

All  these  and  more  came  flocking ;  hut  with  looks 
Downcast  and  damp  ;  yet  such  wherein  appeared 
Obscure  some  glimpse  of  joy,  to  have  found  their  chief 
Not  in  despair,  to  have  found  themselves  not  lost 
In  loss  itself, — which  on  his  countenance  cast 
Like  doubtful  hue.  But  he,  his  wonted  pride 
Soon  recollecting,  with  high  words,  that  bore 
Semblance  of  worth,  not  substance,  gently  raised 
Their  fainting  courage,  and  dispelled  their  fears. 

Then  straight  commands,  that  at  the  warlike  sound 
Of  trumpets  loud  and  clarions,  he  upreared 
His  mighty  standard.  That  proud  honour  claim’d 
Azazel  as  his  right ; .  a  cherub  tall, 

Who  forthwith  from  the  glittering  staff'  unfurled 
The  imperial  ensign,  which,  full  high  advanced, 

Shone  like  a  meteor  streaming  to  the  wind, 

With  gems  and  golden  lustre  rich  emblazed, 

Seraphic  arms  and  trophies ;  all  the  while 
Sonorous  metal  blowing  martial  sounds, 

At  which  the  universal  host  up  sent 
A  shout  that  tore  Hell’s  concave,  and  beyond 
Frighted  the  reign  of  Chaos  and  old  Night. 


1  The  Delphian  cliff. ,  or  in  Dodona.—  There  was  an  oracle  to  Apollo  at  Delphi,  and  one  to  Jupiter  at  Dodona. 


18 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  I.— 544-577 


All  in  a  moment,  through  the  gloom  were  seen 
Ten  thousand  banners  rise  into  the  air, 

With  orient  colours  waving.  With  them  rose 
A  forest  huge  of  spears ;  and  thronging  helms 
Appeared,  and  serried  shields  in  thick  array 
Of  death  immeasurable :  anon  they  move 
In  perfect  phalanx  to  the  Darian  mood1 
Of  flutes  and  soft  recorders, — such  as  raised 
To  height  of  noblest  temper  heroes  old 
Arming  to  battle ;  and  instead  of  rage 
Deliberate  valour  breathed,  firm  and  unmoved 
With  dread  of  death  to  flight  or  foul  retreat : 

Nor  wanting  power  to  mitigate  and  ’suage 
With  solemn  touches  troubled  thoughts,  and  chase 
Anguish,  and  doubt,  and  fear,  and  sorrow,  and  pain. 
From  mortal  or  immortal  minds.  Thus  they, 
Breathing  united  force,  with  fixed  thought, 

Moved  on  in  silence  to  soft  pipes,  that  charmed 
Their  painful  steps  o’er  the  burnt  soil.  And  now 
Advanced  in  view  they  stand,  a  horrid  front 
Of  dreadful  length  and  dazzling  arms,  in  guise 
Of  warriors  old  with  ordered  spear  and  shield, 
Awaiting  what  command  their  mighty  chief 
Had  to  impose.  He  through  the  armed  files 
Darts  his  experienced  eye,  and  soon  traverse* 

The  whole  battalion  views,  their  order  due, 

Their  visages  and  stature  as  of  gods, 

Their  number  last  he  sums.  And  now  his  heart 
Distends  with  pride,  and  hardening  in  his  strength 
Glories.  For  never,  since  created  man, 

Met  such  embodied  force,  as  named  with  these 
Could  merit  more  than  that  small  infantry 
Warred  on  by  cranes,  though  all  the  giant  brood 
Of  Phlegra3  with  the  heroic  race  were  joined 


1  The  Dorian  mood. — In  the  Greek  or  Spartan  manner. 

*  Traverse.  —-From  end  to  end. 

*  Of  fhlegra. — Some  make  the  giant  war  in  which  Hercules  was  engaged  to  have  taken  place  in  Phlegra. 


Book  I.  — 578  -611] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


ia 

That  fought  at  Thebes  and  Ilium,1  on  each  side 
Mixed  with  auxiliar  gods ;  and  what  resounds 
In  fable  or  romance  of  Uther’s  son 
Begirt  with  British  and  Armoric  knights ; 

And  all  who  since,  baptized  or  infidel, 

Jousted  in  Aspramont,  or  Montalban, 

Damasco,  or  Morocco,  or  Trebisond, 

Or  whom  Biserta  sent  from  Afric  shore, 

When  Charlemain  with  all  his  peerage  fell 
By  Fontarabia.  Thus  far  these  beyond 
Compare  of  mortal  prowess,  yet  observed 
Their  dread  commander.  He,  above  the  rest 
In  shape  and  gesture  proudly  eminent, 

Stood  like  a  tower.  His  form  had  yet  not  lost 
All  its  original  brightness ;  nor  appeared 
Less  than  Archangel  ruined,  and  the  excess 
Of  glory  obscured, — as  when  the  sun,  new  risen, 

Looks  through  the  horizontal  misty  air, 

Shorn  of  his  beams ;  or  from  behind  the  moon, 

In  dim  eclipse,  disastrous  twilight  sheds 
On  half  the  nations,  and  with  fear  of  change 
Perplexes  monarchs.  Darkened  so,  yet  shone 
Above  them  all  the  Archangel.  But  his  face 
Deep  scars  of  thunder  had  intrenched,  and  care 
Sat  on  his  faded  cheek,  but  under  brows 
Of  dauntless  courage,  and  considerate  pride 
Waiting  revenge.  Cruel  his  eye,  but  cast 
Signs  of  remorse  and  passion,  to  behold 
The  fellows  of  his  crime,  the  followers  rather — 

Far  other  once  beheld  in  bliss — condemned 
For  ever  now  to  have  their  lot  in  pain, 

Millions  of  spirits  for  his  fault  amerced 
Of  Heaven,  and  from  eternal  splendours  flung 
For  his  revolt,  yet  faithful  how  they  stood, 


1  Thebes  and  Ilium. — The  Greek  Thebes  and  Troy. 


20 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  I. — 612-647 


Their  glory  withered :  as  when  heavens  fire 
Hath  scathed  the  forest  oaks,  or  mountain  pines, 
With  singed  top,  their  stately  growth,  though  bare, 
Stands  on  the  blasted  heath.  He  now  prepared 
To  speak ;  whereat  their  doubled  ranks  they  bend 
From. wing  to  wing,  and  half  enclose  him  round 
With  all  his  peers :  attention  held  them  mute. 

Thrice  he  essayed,  and  thrice,  in  spite  of  scorn, 
Tears,  such  as  angels  weep,  burst  forth :  at  last 
Words,  interwove  with  sighs,  found  out  their  way. 

0  myriads  of  immortal  spirits !  0  powers 

Matchless,  but  with  the  Almighty  !  and  that  strife 
Was  not  inglorious,  though  the  event  was  dire, 

As  this  place  testifies,  and  this  dire  change, 

Hateful  to  utter !  But  what  powrer  of  mind, 
Foreseeing  or  presaging,  from  the  depth 
Of  knowledge  past  or  present,  could  have  feared. 

How  such  united  force  of  gods,  how  such 
As  stood  like  these,  could  ever  know  repulse? 

For  who  can  yet  believe,  though  after  loss, 

That  all  these  puissant  legions,  whose  exile 
Hath  emptied  heaven,  shall  tail  to  re-ascend 
Self-raised,  and  re-possess  their  native  seat? 

For  me,  he  witness  all  the  host  of  heaven, 
if  counsels  different,  or  dangers  shunned 
By  me,  have  lost  our  hopes.  But  lie  who  reigns 
Monarch  in  heaven,  till  then  as  one  secure 
Sat  on  His  throne,  upheld  by  old  repute. 

Consent  or  custom,  and  His  regal  state 

Put  forth  at  full,  hut  still  His  strength  concealed, 

Which  tempted  our  attempt,  and  wrought  our  fall. 

Henceforth  His  might  we  know,  and  know  our  own; 

So  as  not  either  to  provoke,  or  dread 

New  war  provoked.  Our  better  part  remains 

To  work  in  close  design,  by  fraud  or  guile, 

What  force  effected  not,  that  He  no  less 


PARADISE  LOST. 


21 


Book  I.— 648-683 J 

At  length  from  us  may  find,  who  overcomes 
By  force,  hath  overcome  hut  half  «his  foe. 

Space  may  produce  new  worlds;  whereof  so  rib 
There  went  a  fame  in  heaven  that  he  ere  long- 
intended  to  create,  and  therein  plant 
A  generation  whom  his  choice  regard 
Should  favour  equal  to  the  sons  of  heaven. 

Thither,  if  but  to  pry,  should  be  perhaps 
Our  first  eruption.  Thither  or  elsewhere, 

For  this  infernal  pit  shall  never  hold 
Celestial  spirits  in  bondage,  nor  the  abyss 
Long  under  darkness  cover.  But  these  thoughts 
Full  counsel  must  mature.  Peace  is  despaired ; 

For  who  can  think  submission?  War  then,  war, 

Open  or  understood,  must  he  resolved. 

He  spake :  and  to  confirm  his  words,  out  flew 
Millions  of  flaming  swords,  drawn  from  the  thighs 
Of  mighty  cherubim ;  the  sudden  blaze 
Far  round  illumined  Hell.  Highly  they  raged 
Against  the  Highest,  and  fierce  with  grasped  arms 
Clashed  on  their  sounding  shields  the  din  of  war, 

Hurling  defiance  toward  the  vault  of  Heaven. 

There  stood  a  hill  not  far,  wiiose  grisly  top 
Belched  fire  and  rolling  smoke ;  the  rest  entire 
Shone  with  a  glossy  scurf ;  undoubted  sign 
■"  That  in  his  womb  was  hid  metallic  ore, 

The  work  of  sulphur.  Thither,  winged  with  speed, 

A  numerous  brigade  hastened :  as  when  bands 
Of  pioneers,  with  spade  and  pickaxe  arm’d, 

Forerun  the  royal  camp,  to  trench  a  field, 

Or  cast  a  rampart.  Mammon  led  them  on, 

Mammon,  the  least  erected  spirit  that  fell 

From  heaven, — for  e’en  in  heaven  his  looks  and  thoughts 

Were  always  downward  bent,  admiring  more 

The  riches  of  heaven’s  pavement,  trodden  gold, 

Than  aught  divine  or  holy,  else  enjoyed 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  I. — 684-718 


In  vision  beatific.  By  him  first 

Men  also,  and  by  his  Suggestion  taught, 

Ransacked  the  centre,  and  with  impious  hands 
Rifled  the  bowels,  of  their  mother  earth 
For  treasures,  better  hid.  Soon  had  his  crew 
Opened  into  the  hill  a  spacious  wound, 

And  digged  out  ribs  of  gold.  Let  none  admire 
That  riches  grow  in  Hell, — that  soil  may  best 
Deserve  the  precious  bane.  And  here  let  those 
Who  boast  in  mortal  things,  and  wondering  tell 
Of  Babel,  and  the  works  of  Memphian  kings, 

Learn  how  their  greatest  monuments  of  fame, 

And  strength,  and  art,  are  easily  outdone 
By  spirits  reprobate,  and  in  an  hour, 

What  in  an  age  they,  with  incessant  toil 
And  hands  innumerable,  scarce  perform. 

Nigh  on  the  plain,  in  many  cells  prepared, 

That  underneath  had  veins  of  liquid  fire 
Sluiced  from  the  lake,  a  second  multitude, 

With  wondrous  art,  founded  the  massy  ore, 

Severing  each  kind,  and  scummed  the  bullion  dross. 
A  third  as  soon  had  formed  within  the  ground 
A  various  mould,  and  from  the  boiling  cells, 

By  strange  conveyance,  filled  each  hollow  nook,  . 
As  in  an  organ,  from  one  blast  of  wind, 

To  many  a  row  of  pipes  the  soundboard  breathes. 
Anon,  out  of  the  earth,  a  fabric  huge 
Rose  like  an  exhalation,  with  the  sound 
Of  dulcet  symphonies  and  voices  sweet, 

Built  like  a  temple,  where  pilasters  round 
Were  set,  and  Doric  pillars  overlaid 
With  golden  architrave.  Nor  did  there  want 
Cornice  or  frieze,  with  bossy  sculptures  graven. 

The  roof  was  fretted  gold.  Not  Babylon, 

Nor  great  Alcairo,1  such  magnificence 


Alcairo. — Memphis. 


- 


Book  I.— 719-752]  paradise  LOST.  23 

Equalled  in  all  their  glories,  to  enshrine 

Belus  or  Serapis,  their  gods,  or  seat 

Their  kings,  when  Egypt  with  Assyria  strove 

In  wealth  and  luxury.  The  ascending  pile 

Soon  fixed  her  stately  height;  and  straight  the  doors, 

Opening  their  brazen  folds,  discover,  wide 
Within,  her  ample  spaces,  o’er  the  smooth 
And  level  pavement.  From  the  arched  roof, 

Pendent  by  subtle  magic,  many  a  row 
Of  starry  lamps  and  blazing  cressets,  fed 
With  naphtha  and  asplmltus,  yielded  light 
As  from  a  sky.  The  hasty  multitude 
Admiring  entered ;  and  the  work  some  praise, 

And  some  the  architect.  His  hand  was  known 
In  heaven  by  many  a  towered  structure  high, 

Where  sceptred  angels  held  their  residence, 

And  sat  as  princes,  whom  the  supreme  King 
Exalted  to  such  power,  and  gave  to  rule, 

Each  in  his  hierarchy,  the  orders  bright. 

Nor  was  his  name  unheard  or  unadored 
In  ancient  Greece ;  and  in  the  Ausonian  land 
Men  called  him  Mulciber ;  and  how  he  fell 
From  heaven,  they  fabled,  thrown  by  angry  Jove 
Sheer  o’er  the  crystal  battlements  :  from  morn 
To  noon  he  fell,  from  noon  to  dewy  eve, 

A  summer’s  day ;  and  wTith  the  setting  sun 
Dropped  from  the  zenith,  like  a  falling  star, 

On  Lemnos,  iEgean  isle.  Thus  they  relate, 

Erring  ;*  for  he  with  this  rebellious  rout 

Fell  long  before  ;  nor  aught  availed  him  now 

To  have  built  in  heaven  high  towers,  nor  did  he  ’scape 

By  all  his  engines,  but  was  headlong  sent 

With  his  industrious  crewT  to  build  in  Hell. 

Meanwhile  the  winged  heralds,  by  command 

1  Erring. — Miitoa  thus  links  the  tradition  concerning  Vulcan  in  the  Greek  mythology  with  that  of  a  workman  of 
a  higher  order. 


24 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  I. — 753-T8t> 


Of  sovereign  power,  with  awful  ceremony 

And  trumpet’s  sound,  throughout  the  host  proclaim 

A  solemn  council,  forthwith  to  be  held 

At  Pandemonium,  the  high  capital 

Of  Satan  and  his  peers.  Their  summons  called 

From  every  band  and  squared  regiment, 

By  place  or  choice  the  worthiest ;  they  anon, 

With  hundreds  and  with  thousands,  trooping  came, 
Attended.  All  access  was  thronged ;  the  gates 
And  porches  wide,  but  chief  the  spacious  hall — 

Though  like  a  covered  field,  where  champions  bold 
Wont  ride  in  armed,  and  at  the  Soldan’s'  chair 
Defied  the  best  of  Faninr  chivalry 
To  mortal  combat,  or  career  of  lance — 

Thick  swarmed,  both  on  the  ground  and  in  the  air, 
Brushed  with  the  hiss  of  rustling  wings.  As  bees 
In  springtime,  when  the  sun  with  Taurus  rides, 

Pour  forth  their  populous  youth  about  the  hive 
In  clusters ;  they  among  fresh  dews  and  flowers 
Fly  to  and  fro,  or  on  the  smoothed  plank, 

The  suburb  of  their  straw-built  citadel, 

New  rubbed  with  balm,  expatiate  and  confer 
Their  state  affairs, — so  thick  the  aery  crowd 
Swarmed  and  were  straitened,  till,  the  signal  given, 
Behold  a  wonder !  They  but  now  who  seemed 
In  bigness  to  surpass  earth’s  giant  sons, 

Now  less  than  smallest  dwarfs,  in  narrow  room 
Throng  numberless  like  that  Pygmean  race 
Beyond  the  Indian  mount;  or  fairy  elves, 

Whose  midnight  revels  by  a  forest  side 
Or  fountain,  some  belated  peasant  sees, 

Or  dreams  lie  sees,  while  overhead  the  moon 

Sits  arbitress,  and  nearer  to  the  earth 

Wheels  her  pale  course;  they,  on  their  mirth  and  dance 


Roldan. — Sultan. 


5  Panim. — Papan — not  Christian. 


■f  -  HgillSjj 

-  ;  a.  • 

5  Their  summous  called 

From  every  baud  and  squared  regiment, 

Bv  place  or  choice  the  worthiest. 

Bool  I.,  lines  757—759. 


* 


. 


Book  I.—787-798] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


25  ■ 


Intent,  with  jocund  music  charm  his  ear  ; 

At  once  with  joy  and  fear  his  heart  rebounds. 
Thus  incorpereal  spirits  to  smallest  forms 
Reduced  their  shapes  immense,  and  were  at  large, 
Though  without  number  still,  amidst  the  hall 
Of  that  infernal  court.  But  far  within, 

And  in  their  own  dimensions,  like  themselves, 

The  great  seraphic  lords  and  cherubim 
In  close  recess  and  secret  conclave  sat ; 

A  thousand  demi-gods,  on  golden  seats, 

Frequent  and  full.  After  short  silence  then, 

And  summons  read,  the  great  consult  began. 


BOOK  II. 


Tiie  consultation  begun,  Satan  debates  whether  another  battle  be  to  be  hazarded  for  the  recovery  of  heaven. 
Some  advise  it,  others  dissuade :  a  third  proposal  is  preferred,  mentioned  before  by  Satan,  to  search  the  truth 
of  that  prophecy  or  tradition  in  heaven  concerning  another  world,  and  another  kind  of  creature,  equal  or 
not  much  inferior  to  themselves,  about  this  time  to  be  created.  Their  doubt  who  shall  be  sent  on  this  diffi¬ 
cult  search;  Satan,  their  chief,  undertakes  alone  the  voyage,  is  honored  and  applauded.  The  council  thus 
ended,  the  rest  betake  them  several  ways,  and  to  several  employments,  as  their  inclinations  lead  them,  to  en¬ 
tertain  thp  time  till  Satan  return.  He  passes  on  his  journey  to  hell-gates;  finds  them  shut,  and  who  sat 
there  to  guard  them  ;  by  whom  at  length  they  are  opened,  and  discover  to  him  the  great  gulf  between  hell 
and  heaven ;  with  what  difficulty  he  passes  through  directed  by  Chaos,  the  power  of  that  place,  to  the  sight 
of  this  new  world  which  he  sought. 

J_JIGH  on  a  throne  of  a  royal  state,  which  far 
Outshone  the  wealth  of  Ormus  and  of  Ind,1 
Or  where  the  gorgeous  East,  with  richest  hand, 

Showers  on  her  kings  barbaric  pearl  and  gold, 

Satan  exalted  sat,  by  merit  raised 

To  that  had  eminence ;  and,  from  despair 

Thus  high  uplifted  beyond  hope,  aspires 

Beyond  thus  high ;  insatiate  to  pursue 

V ain  war  with  Heaven  ;  and,  by  success  untaught,2 

His  proud  imaginations  thus  displayed : 

Powers  and  Dominions,  Deities  of  Heaven ! 

For  since  no  deep  within  her  gulf  can  hold 
Immortal  vigour,  though  oppressed  and  fallen, 

1  give  not  Heaven  for  lost.  From  this  descent 

Celestial  virtues  rising,  will  appear 

More  glorious  and  more  dread  than  from  no  fall, 

And  trust  themselves  to  fear  no  second  fate. 

Me  though  just  right,  and  the  fixed  laws  of  Heaven, 

Did  first  create  your  leader ;  next,  free  choice, 

M  ith  what  besides,  in  counsel  or  in  fight, 

Hath  been  achieved  of  merit;  yet  this  loss, 

Thus  far  at  least  recovered,  hath  much  more 


1  Wealth  of  Orman  and  of  Ind. — Precious  Rtones  which  came  from  India,  and  of  which  Ormus,  an  island  in  the 
Red  Sea,  was  the  great  mart. 

‘By  tucceh*  untaught. — A  classical  form  of  expression,  meaning  untaught  by  events — by  experience. 


High  on  a  throne  of  a  royal  state,  which  far 

Outshone  the  wealth  of  Orrnus  and  of  Ind. 

Boole  11.,  lines  1,  2. 


.  ••  m\m? 


' 


.* 


Book  II. — 23-58J 


PARADISE  LOST. 


27 


Established  in  a  safe  uneii vied  throne, 

Yielded  with  full  consent.  The  happier  state 
In  Heaven,  which  follows  dignity,  might  draw 
Envy  from  each  inferior;  but  who  here 
Will  envy  whom  the  highest  place  exposes 
Foremost  to  stand  against  the  Thunderer’s  aim, 

Your  bulwark,  and  condemns  to  greatest  share 
Of  endless  pain?  Where  there  is  then  no  good 
For  which  to  strive,  no  strife  can  grow  up  there 
From  faction.  For  none  sure  will  claim  in  Hell 
Precedence, — none,  whose  portion  is  so  small 
Of  present  pain,  that  with  ambitious  mind 
Will  covet  more.  With  this  advantage  then 
To  union,  and  firm  faith,  and  firm  accord, 

More  than  can  be  in  Heaven,  we  now  return 
To  claim  our  just  inheritance  of  old, 

Surer  to  prosper  than  prosperity 

Could  have  assured  us ;  and,  by  what  best  way, 

Whether  of  open  war,  or  covert  guile, 

We  now  debate :  who  can  advise,  may  speak. 

He  ceased ;  and  next  him  Moloch,  sceptred  king. 
Stood  up,  the  strongest  and  the  fiercest  spirit 
That  fought  in  Heaven,  now  fiercer  by  despair. 

His  trust  was  with  the  Eternal  to  be  deemed 
Equal  in  strength,  and  rather  than  be  less, 

Cared  not  to  be  at  all.  With  that  care  lost 
Went  all  his  fear;  of  God,  or  hell,  or  worse, 

He  recked  not ;  and  these  words  thereafter  spake : 

My  sentence  is  for  open  war.  Of  wiles, 

More  unexpert,  I  boast  not ;  them  let  those 
Contrive  who  need,  or  when  they  need,  not  now. 

For,  while  they  sit  contriving,  shall  the  rest, 

Millions  that  stand  in  arms,  and  longing  wait 
The  signal  to  ascend,  sit  lingering  here, 

Heaven’s  fugitives,  for  their  dwelling-place 
Accept  this  dark  opprobrious  den  of  shame, 


28 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  II.— 59-92 


The  prison  of  his  tyranny  who  reigns 
By  our  delay?  No!  let  us  rather  choose, 

Armed  with  hell  flames  and  fury,  all  at  once, 

O’er  Heaven’s  high  towers  to  force  resistless  way, 
Turning  our  tortures  into  horrid  arms 
Against  the  torturer  ;  when,  to  meet  the  noise 
Of  his  almighty  engine,  he  shall  hear 
Infernal  thunder,  and,  for  lightning,  see 
Black  tire  and  horror  shot  with  equal  rage 
Among  his  Angels,  and  his  throne  itself 
Mixed  with  Tartarean  sulphur  and  strange  tire, 

His  own  invented  torments.  But  perhaps 
The  way  seems  difficult  and  steep  to  scale 
With  upright  wing  against  a  higher  foe. 

Let  such  bethink  them,  if  the  sleepy  drench 
Of  that  forgetful  lake  benumb  not  still, 

That  in  our  proper  motion  we  ascend 
Up  to  our  native  seat:  descent  and  fall 
To  us  is  adverse.  Who  but  felt  of  late, 

When  the  fierce  foe  hung  on  our  broken  rear 
Insulting,  and  pursued  us  through  the  deep, 

With  what  compulsion  and  laborious  flight 
We  sunk  thus  low?  The  ascent  is  easy  then. 

The  event  is  feared ;  should  we  again  provoke 
Our  stronger,  some  worse  way  his  wrath  may  find 
To  our  destruction, — if  there  be  in  hell 
Fear  to  be  worse  destroyed.  What  can  be  worse 
Than  to  dwell  here,*  driven  out  from  bliss,  condemned 
In  this  abhorred  deep  to  utter  woe, 

Where  pain  of  unextinguishable  tire 
Must  exercise  us1  without  hope  of  end, 

The  vassals  of  his  anger,  when  the  scourge 
Inexorable,  and  the  torturing  hour, 

Call  us  to  penance?  More  destroyed  than  thus 


'  Exercise  us. — Torment  or  try  us— the  Latin  sense  of  the  word. 


Book  II.— 93-126] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


29 


We  should  he  quite  abolished,  and  expire. 

What  fear  we,  then?  What  doubt  we  to  incense 
His  utmost  ire,  which,  to  the  height  enraged, 
Will  either  quite  consume  us,  and  reduce 
To  nothing  this  essential — happier  far 
Than  miserable  to  have  eternal  beiner— 

Or,  if  our  substance  be  indeed  divine, 

And  cannot  cease  to  be,  we  are  at  worst 
On  this  side  nothing;  and  by  proof  we  feel 
Our  power  sufficient  to  disturb  his  heaven, 

And  with  perpetual  inroads  to  alarm, 

Though  inaccessible,  his  fatal  throne, 

Which,  if  not  victory,  is  yet  revenge. 

He  ended,  frowning,  and  his  look  denounced 
Desperate  revenge,  and  battle  dangerous 
To  less  than  gods.  On  the  other  side  up  rose 
Belial,  in  act  more  graceful  and  humane ; 

A  fairer  person  lost  not  heaven ;  he  seemed 
For  dignity  composed,  and  high  exploit  : 

But  all  was  false  and  hollow ;  though  his  tongue 
Dropt  manna,  and  could  make  the  worse  appear 
The  better  reason,  to  perplex  and  dash 
Maturest  counsels :  for  his  thoughts  were  low : 

To  vice  industrious,  hut  to  nobler  deeds 
Timorous  and  slothful ;  yet  he  pleased  the  car, 
And  with  persuasive  accent  thus  began  : 

I  should  be  much  for  open  war,  0  peers, 

As  not  behind  in  hate  ;  if  what  was  urged 
Main  reason  to  persuade  immediate  wTar, 

Did  not  dissuade  me  most,  and  seem  to  cast 
Ominous  conjecture  on  the  wdiole  success ; 

When  he,  who  most  excels  in  fact  of  arms, 

In  what  he  counsels,  and  in  what  excels, 
Mistrustful  grounds  his  courage  on  despair 


1  Denounced. — Menaced — proclaimed. 


30 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  II.— 127-102 


And  utter  dissolution,  as  the  scope 
Of  all  his  aim,  after  some  dire  revenge. 

First,  what  revenge?  The  towers  of  heaven  are  filled 
With  armed  watch,  that  render  all  access 
Impregnable.  Oft  on  the  bordering  deep 
Encamp  their  legions ;  or,  with  obscure  wing 
Scout,  far  and  wide  into  the  realm  of  night, 

Scorning  surprise.  Or  could  we  break  our  way 
By  force,  and  at  our  heels  all  hell  should  rise 
With  blackest  insurrection,  to  confound 
Heaven’s  purest  light ;  yet  our  great  Enemy, 

All  incorruptible,  would  on  his  throne 
Sit  unpolluted,  and  the  ethereal  mould, 

Incapable  of  stain,  would  soon  expel 
Her  mischief,  and  purge  off  the  baser  fire, 

Victorious.  Thus  repulsed,  our  final  hope 

Is  fiat  despair :  we  must  exasperate 

The  Almighty  Victor  to  spend  all  His  rage, 

And  that  must  end  us ;  that  must  be  our  cure, — 

To  be  no  more.  Sad  cure !  for  who  would  lose, 
Though  full  of  pain,  this  intellectual  being, 

Those  thoughts  that  wander  through  eternity, 

To  perish  rather,  swallowed  up  and  lost 
In  the  wide  womb  of  uncreated  night, 

Devoid  of  sense  and  motion?  And  who  knows, 

Let  this  be  good,  whether  our  angry  Foe 
Can  give  it,  or  will  ever?  How  he  can, 

Is  doubtful :  that  he  never  will,  is  sure. 

Will  he,  so  wise,  let  loose  at  once  his  ire, 

Belike  through  impotence,  or  unaware, 

To  give  his  enemies  their  wish,  and  end 
Them  in  his  anger,  whom  his  anger  saves 
To  punish  endless  ?  Wherefore  cease  we  then  ? 

Say  they  who  counsel  war — We  are  decreed, 

Reserved,  and  destined  to  eternal  woe : 

\\  hatever  doing,  what  can  we  suffer  more, 


Book  11.-163-198] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


31 


Wliat  can  we  suffer  wTorse?  Is  this  then  worst, 

Thus  sitting,  thus  consulting,  thus  in  arms? 

What !  when  we  fled  amain,  pursued,  and  struck 
With  heaven’s  afflicting  thunder,  and  besought 
The  deep  to  shelter  us?  This  hell  then  seemed 
A  refuge  from  those  wounds,  or  when  we  lay 
Chained  on  the  burning  lake  ?  That  sure  was  worse. 
What  if  the  breath  that  kindled  those  grim  fires 
Awaked,  should  blow  them  into  sevenfold  rasre 
And  plunge  us  in  the  flames  ?  Or,  from  above, 

Should  intermitted  vengeance  arm  again 
His  red  right  hand  to  plague  us?  What  if  all 
Her  stores  were  opened,  and  this  firmament 
Of  Hell  should  spout  her  cataracts  of  fire, 

Impendent  horrors,  threatening  hideous  fall 
One  day  upon  our  heads,  while  we,  perhaps, 

Designing  or  exhorting  glorious  war, 

Caught  in  a  fiery  tempest,  shall  he  hurled 
Each  on  his  rock  transfixed,  the  sport  and  prey 
Of  racking  whirlwinds,  or  for  ever  sunk 
Under  yon  boiling  ocean,  wrapped  in  chains, 

There  to  converse  with  everlasting  groans, 

Unrespited,  unpitied,  unreprieved, 

Ages  of  hopeless  end?  This  would  be  worse. 

War,  therefore,  open  or  concealed,  alike 
My  voice  dissuades  ;  for  what  can  force  or  guile 
With  him,  or  who  deceive  his  mind,  whose  eye 
Views  all  things  at  one  view?  He  from  heaven’s  height 
All  these  our  motions  vain  sees,  and  derides ; 

Not  more  almighty  to  resist  our  might, 

Than  wise  to  frustrate  all  our  plots  and  wiles. 

Shall  we  then  live  thus  vile,  the  race  of  heaven 

Thus  trampled,  thus  expelled  to  suffer  here 

Chains  and  these  torments?  Better  these  than  worse, 

By  my  advice ;  since  fate  inevitable 
Subdues  us,  and  omnipotent  decree. 


32 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  II.  199-2:34 


The  Victor’s  will.  To  suffer,  as  to  do, 

Our  strength  is  equal,  nor  the  law  unjust 
That  so  ordains :  this  was  at  first  resolved, 

If  we  were  wise,  against  so  great  a  Foe 
Contending,  and  so  doubtful  what  might  fall. 

I  laugh,  when  those  who  at  the  spear  are  hold 
And  venturous,  if  that  fail  them,  shrink  and  fear 
What  yet  they  know  must  follow,  to  endure 
Exile,  or  ignominy,  or  bonds,  or  pain, 

The  sentence  of  their  Conqueror.  This  is  now 
Our  doom ;  which  if  we  can  sustain  and  bear, 

Our  Supreme  Foe  in  time  may  much  remit 
His  anger,  and  perhaps,  thus  far  removed, 

Not  mind  us  not  offending,  satisfied 

With  what  is  punished ;  whence  these  raging  tires 

Will  slacken,  if  His  breath  stir  not  their  flames. 

Our  purer  essence  then  will  overcome 
Their  noxious  vapour ;  or,  inured,  not  feel ; 

Or,  changed  at  length,  and  to  the  place  conformed 
In  temper  and  in  nature,  will  receive 
Familiar  the  fierce  heat,  and  void  of  pain. 

This  horror  will  grow  mild,  this  darkness  light : 
Besides  what  hope  the  never-ending  flight 
Of  future  days  may  bring,  what  chance,  what  change 
Worth  waiting :  since  our  present  lot  appears 
For  happy,  though  but  ill;  for  ill,  not  worst; 

If  we  procure  not  to  ourselves  more  woe. 

Thus  Belial,  with  words  clothed  in  reason’s  garb, 
Counselled  ignoble  ease,  and  peaceful  sloth, 

Not  peace:  And  after  him  thus  Mammon  spake: 

Either  to  disenthrone  the  King  of  Heaven 
We  war,  if  war  be  best,  or  to  regain 
Our  own  rioht  lost.  Him  to  unthrone  we  then 

o 

May  hope,  when  everlasting  Fate  shall  yield 
To  fickle  Chance,  and  Chaos  judge  the  strife. 

The  former,  vain  to  hope,  argues  as  vain 


Book  II.— 235-270]  PARADISE  LOST.  33 

The  latter ;  for  what  place  can  be  for  us 

Within  heaven’s  hound,  unless  heaven’s  Lord  supreme 

We  overpower?  Suppose  he  should  relent, 

And  publish  grace  to  all,  on  promise  made 
Of  new  subjection  ;  with  what  eyes  could  we 
Stand  in  his  presence  humble,  and  receive 
Strict  laws  imposed,  to  celebrate  his  throne 
With  warbled  hymns,  and  to  his  Godhead  sing 
Forced  hallelujahs,  while  he  lordly  sits 
Our  envied  Sovereign,  and  his  altar  breathes 
Ambrosial  odours  and  ambrosial  flowers, 

Our  servile  offerings  ?  This  must  he  our  task 

In  heaven,  this  our  delight.  How  wearisome 

Eternity  so  spent,  in  worship  paid 

To  whom  we  hate  !  Let  us  not  then  pursue 

By  force  impossible,  by  leave  obtained 

Unacceptable,  though  in  heaven,  our  state 

Of  splendid  vassalage  ;  hut  rather  seek 

Our  own  good  from  ourselves,  and  from  our  own 

Live  to  ourselves,  though  in  this  vast  recess, 

Free,  and  to  none  accountable,  preferring 
Hard  liberty  before  the  easy  yoke 
Of  servile  pomp.  Our  greatness  will  appear 
Then  most  conspicuous,  when  great  things  of  small, 

Useful  of  hurtful,  prosperous  of  adverse, 

We  can  create ;  and  in  what  place  soe’er 
Thrive  under  evil,  and  work  ease  out  of  pain, 

Through  labour  and  endurance.  This  deep  world 
Of  darkness  do  we  dread  ?  How  oft  amidst 
Thick  clouds  and  dark  doth  heaven’s  all-ruling  Sire 
Choose  to  reside,  his  glory  unobscured, 

And  with  the  majesty  of  darkness  round 

Covers  his  throne ;  from  whence  deep  thunders  roar, 

Mustering  their  rage,  and  heaven  resembles  hell  ? 

As  he  our  darkness,  cannot  we  his  light 
Imitate,  when  we  please  ?  This  desert  soil 


34 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  II.-  271  300 


Wants  not  her  hidden  lustre,  gems  and  gold ; 

Nor  want  we  skill  or  art,  from  whence  to  raise 
Magnificence :  and  what  can  heaven  show  more? 

Our  torments  also  may  in  length  of  time 
Become  our  elements ;  these  piercing  fires 
As  soft  as  now  severe,  our  temper  changed 
Into  their  temper ;  which  must  needs  remove 
The  sensible  of  pain.  All  things  invite 
To  peaceful  counsels,  and  the  settled  state 
Of  order,  how  in  safety  best  we  may 
Compose  our  present  evils,  with  regard 
Of  what  we  are,  and  where,  dismissing  quite 
All  thoughts  of  war.  Ye  have  what  I  advise. 

He  scarce  had  finished,  when  such  murmur  filled 
The  assembly,  as  when  hollow  rocks  retain 
The  sound  of  blustering  winds,  which  all  night  long 
Had  roused  the  sea,  now  with  hoarse  cadence  lull 
Seafaring  men  o’erwatched,  whose  bark  by  chance 
Or  pinnace,  anchors  in  a  craggy  bay 
After  the  tempest,  such  applause  was  heard 
As  Mammon  ended,  and  his  sentence  pleased, 
Advising  peace.  For  such  another  field 
They  dreaded  worse  than  hell,  so  much  the  fear 
Of  thunder  and  the  sword  of  Michael 
W  fought  still  within  them.  And  no  less  desire 
To  found  this  nether  empire,  which  might  rise 
By  policy,  and  long  process  of  time, 

In  emulation  opposite  to  heaven. 

Which  when  Beelzebub  perceived,  than  whom, 

Satan  except,  none  higher  sat,  with  grave 
Aspect  he  rose,  and  in  his  rising  seemed 
A  pillar  of  state.  Deep  on  his  front  engraven 
Deliberation  sat,  and  public  care  ; 

And  princely  counsel  in  his  face  yet  shone, 

Majestic,  though  in  ruin.  Sage  he  stood. 

With  Atlantean  shoulders,  fit  to  bear 


Book  II.— 307-342] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


35 


The  weight  of  mightiest  monarchies.  His  look 
Drew  audience  and  attention  still  as  night 
Or  summer’s  noontide  air,  while  thus  he  spake : 

Thrones,  and  imperial  powers,  offspring  of  heaven, 
Ethereal  virtues  !  or  these  titles  now 
Must  we  renounce,  and,  changing  style,  he  called 
Princes  of  hell?  For  so  the  popular  vote 
Inclines,  here  to  continue,  and  build  up  here 
A  growing  empire.  Doubtless,  while  we  dream, 

And  know  not  that  the  King  of  Heaven  hath  doomed 
This  place  our  dungeon,  not  our  safe  retreat 
Beyond  his  potent  arm,  to  live  exempt 
From  heaven’s  high  jurisdiction,  in  new  league 
Banded  against  his  throne,  hut  to  remain 
In  strictest  bondage,  though  thus  far  removed, 

Under  the  inevitable  curb  reserved, 

His  captive  multitude :  for  he,  he  sure, 

In  height  or  depth,  still  first  and  last  will  reign 
Sole  king,  and  of  His  kingdom  lose  no  part 
By  our  revolt,  but  over  hell  extend 
His  empire,  and  with  iron  sceptre  rule 
Us  here,  as  with  his  golden  those  in  heaven. 

What  sit  we  then  projecting  peace  and  war? 

War  hath  determined  us,  and  foiled  with  loss 
Irreparable  ;  terms  of  peace  yet  none 
Vouchsafed  or  sought;  for  what  peace  will  be  given 
To  us  enslaved,  but  custody  severe, 

And  stripes,  and  arhitray  punishment, 

Inflicted?  and  what  peace  can  wrn  return, 

But  to  our  power  hostility  and  hate, 

Untamed  reluctance,  and  revenge,  though  slow, 

Yet  ever  plotting  how  the  Conqueror  least 
May  reap  his  conquest,  and  may  least  rejoice 
In  doins;  what  we  most  in  suffering  feel? 

Nor  will  occasion  want,  nor  shall  we  need 
With  dangerous  expedition  to  invade 


36 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  11.-343-378 


Heaven,  whose  high  walls  fear  no  assault  or  siege, 
Or  ambush  from  the  deep.  What  if  we  find 
Some  easier  enterprise  ?  There  is  a  place — 

If  ancient  and  prophetic  fame  in  heaven 
Err  not, — another  world,  the  happy  seat 
Of  some  new  race,  called  Man,  about  this  time 
To  be  created  like  to  us,  though  less 
In  power  and  excellence,  but  favoured  more 
Of  him  who  rules  above.  So  was  his  will 
Pronounced  among  the  gods,  and  by  an  oath, 

That  shook  Heaven’s  whole  circumference,  confirmed. 
Thither  let  us  bend  all  our  thoughts,  to  learn 
What  creatures  there  inhabit,  of  what  mould 
Or  substance,  how  endued,  and  what  their  power, 
And  where  their  weakness,  how  attempted  best, 

By  force  or  subtlety.  Though  heaven  be  shut, 

And  heaven’s  high  Arbitrator  sit  secure 

In  his  own  strength,  this  place  may  lie  exposed, 

The  utmost  border  of  his  kingdom,  left 

To  their  defence  who  hold  it.  Here  perhaps 

Some  advantageous  act  may  be  achieved 

By  sudden  onset,  either  with  hell-fire 

To  waste  his  whole  creation,  or  possess 

All  as  our  own,  and  drive,  as  we  were  driven, 

The  puny  habitants.  Or,  if  not  drive, 

Seduce  them  to  our  party,  that  their  God 
May  prove  their  foe,  and  with  repenting  hand 
Abolish  his  own  works.  This  would  surpass 
Common  revenge,  and  interrupt  his  joy 
In  our  confusion,  and  our  joy  upraise 
In  his  disturbance ;  when  his  darling  sons, 

Hurled  headlong  to  partake  with  us,  shall  curse 
Their  frail  original,  and  faded  bliss, 

Faded  so  soon.  Advise,  if  this  be  worth 
Attempting,  or  to  sit  in  darkness  here 
Hatching  vain  empires. — Thus  Beelzebub 


Book  II.— 379-414] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


37 


Pleaded  his  devilish  counsel,  first  devised 
By  Satan,  and  in  part  proposed.  For  whence, 

But  from  the  author  of  all  ill,  could  spring 
So  deep  a  malice,  to  confound  the  race 
Of  mankind  in  one  root,  and  earth  with  hell 
To  mingle  and  involve,  done  all  to  spite 
The  great  Creator  ?  But  their  spite  still  serves 
His  glory  to  augment.  The  hold  design 
Pleased  highly  those  infernal  states,  and  joy 
Sparkled  in  all  their  eyes.  With  full  assent 
They  vote.  Whereat  his  speech  he  thus  renews : 

Well  have  ye  judged,  well  ended  long  debate, 

Synod  of  gods !  and,  like  to  what  ye  are 

Great  things  resolved,  which,  from  the  lowest  deep, 

Will  once  more  lift  us  up,  in  spite  of  fate, 

Nearer  our  ancient  seat.  Perhaps  in  view 

Of  those  bright  confines,  whence,  with  neighbouring  arms. 

And  opportune  excursion,  we  may  chance 

Re-enter  heaven ;  or  else  in  some  mild  zone 

Dwell,  not  unvisited  of  heaven’s  fair  light 

Secure,  and  at  the  brightening  orient  beam 

Purge  off  this  gloom :  the  soft  delicious  air, 

To  heal  the  scar  of  these  corrosive  fires, 

Shall  breathe  her  balm.  But  first,  whom  shall  we  send 
In  search  of  this  new  world?  Whom  shall  we  find 
Sufficient?  Who  shall  tempt  with  wandering  feet 
The  dark,  unbottomed,  infinite  abyss, 

And  through  the  palpable  obscure  find  out 
His  uncouth  way,  or  spread  his  aery  flight, 

Upborne  with  indefatigable  wings, 

Over  the  vast  abrupt,  ere  he  arrive 

The  happy  isle?  What  strength,  what  art,  can  then 

Suffice,  or  what  evasion  bear  him  safe 

Through  the  strict  sentries  and  stations  thick 

Of  Angels  watching  round?  Here  he  had  need 

o  o 

All  circumspection ;  and  we  now  no  less 


38 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  II. — 415-450 


Choice  in  our  suffrage ;  for,  on  whom  we  send, 

The  weight  of  all,  and  our  last  hope,  relies. 

This  said,  he  sat ;  and  expectation  held 
His  looks  suspense,  awaiting  who  appeared 
To  second,  or  oppose,  or  undertake, 

The  perilous  attempt.  Hut  all  sat  mute, 

Pondering  the  danger  with  deep  thoughts;  and  each 
In  other’s  countenance  read  his  own  dismay, 
Astonished.  None  among  the  choice  and  prime 
Of  those  heaven-warring  champions  could  he  found 
So  hardy,  as  to  proffer  or  accept 
Alone  the  dreadful  voyage ;  till  at  last 
Satan,  whom  now  transcendent  glory  raised 
Above  his  fellows,  with  monarchal  pride, 

Conscious  of  highest  worth,  unmoved  thus  spake : 

0  progeny  of  Heaven  !  empyreal  Thrones ! 

With  reason  hath  deep  silence  and  demur 
Seized  us,  though  undismayed.  Long  is  the  way 
And  hard,  that  out  of  hell  leads  up  to  light ; 

Our  prison  strong ;  this  hugh  convex  of  fire. 
Outrageous  to  devour,  immures  us  round 
Ninefold,  and  gates  of  burning  adamant, 

Barred  over  us,  prohibit  all  egress. 

These  passed,  if  any  pass,  the  void  profound 
Of  unessential  night  receives  him  next 
Wide  gaping,  and  with  utter  loss  of  being 
Threatens  him,  plunged  in  that  abortive  gulf. 

If  thence  he  ’scape  into  whatever  world, 

Or  unknown  region,  what  remains  him  less 
Than  unknown  dangers,  and  as  hard  escape? 

But  I  should  ill  become  this  throne,  0  peers, 

And  this  imperial  sovereignty,  adorned 

With  splendour,  armed  with  power,  if  aught  proposed 

And  judged  of  public  moment,  in  the  shape 

Of  difficulty  or  danger,  could  deter 

Me  from  attempting.  Wherefore  do  I  assume 


Book  II.— 451-486] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


39 


These  royalties,  and  not  refuse  to  reign, 

Refusing  to  accept  as  great  a  share 

Of  hazard  as  of  honour,  due  alike 

To  him  who  reigns,  and  so  much  to  him  due 

Of  hazard  more,  as  he  above  the  rest 

High  honoured  sits?  Go,  therefore,  mighty  powers, 

Terror  of  heaven,  though  fallen  !  intend  at  home — 

While  here  shall  he  our  home, — what  best  may  ease 

The  present  misery,  and  render  Hell 

More  tolerable;  if  there  be  cure  or  charm 

To  respite,  or  deceive,  or  slack  the  pain 

Of  this  ill  mansion.  Intermit  no  watch 

Against  a  wakeful  Foe,  while  I  abroad, 

Through  all  the  coasts  of  dark  destruction  seek 
Deliverance  for  us  all.  This  enterprise 
None  shall  partake  with  me.  Thus  saying,  rose 
The  monarch,  and  prevented  all  reply; 

Prudent,  lest  from  his  resolution  raised, 

Others  among  the  chief  might  offer  now — 

Certain  to  he  refused — what  erst  they  feared, 

And,  so  refused,  might  in  opinion  stand 
His  rivals,  winning  cheap  the  high  repute, 

Which  he  through  hazard  huge  must  earn.  But  they 

Dreaded  not  more  the  adventure,  than  his  voice 
Forbidding ;  and  at  once  with  him  they  rose. 

Their  rising  all  at  once  was  as  the  sound 

Of  thunder  heard  remote.  Toward  him  they  bend 
With  awful  reverence  prone ;  and  as  a  god 
Extol  him  equal  to  the  Highest  in  heaven. 

Nor  failed  they  to  express  how  much  they  praised, 

That  for  the  general  safety  he  despised 
His  own.  For  neither  do  the  spirits  damned 
Lose  all  their  virtue ;  lest  had  men  should  boast 
Their  specious  deeds  on  earth,  which  glory  excites, 

Or  close  ambition,  varnished  o’er  with  zeal. 

Thus  they  their  doubtful  consultations  dark 


40 


PARADISE  LOST. 


IBook  1 1. -487-520 


Ended,  rejoicing  in  tlieir  matchless  chief. 

As  when  from  mountain-tops  the  dusky  clouds 
Ascending,  while  the  north  wind  sleeps,  o’erspread 
Heaven’s  cheerful  face,  the  louring  element1 
Scowls  o’er  the  darkened  landskip  snow,  or  shower, 
If  chance  the  radiant  sun,  with  farewell  sweet, 
Extend  his  evening  beam,  the  fields  revive, 

The  birds  their  notes  renew,  and  bleating  herds 
Attest  their  joy,  that  hill  and  valley  rings. 

0  shame  to  men  !  Devil  with  devil  damned 
Firm  concord  holds,  men  only  disagree 
Of  creatures  rational,  though  under  hope 
Of  heavenly  grace ;  and,  God  proclaiming  peace, 

Yet  live  in  hatred,  enmity,  and  strife, 

Among  themselves,  and  levy  cruel  wars, 

Wasting  the  earth,  each  other  to  destroy: 

As  if — which  might  induce  us  to  accord — 

Man  had  not  hellish  foes  enow  besides, 

That  day  and  night  for  his  destruction  wait. 

The  Stygian  council  thus  dissolved,  and  forth 
In  order  came  the  grand  infernal  peers. 

Midst  came  their  mighty  paramount,8  and  seemed 
Alone  the  antagonist  of  Heaven,  nor  less 
Than  Hell’s  dread  emperor  with  pomp  supreme, 
And  god-like  imitated  state.  Him  round 
A  globe  of  fiery  seraphim  enclosed 
With  bright  emblazonry,  and  horrent  arms. 

Then,  of  their  session  ended,  they  hid  cry 
With  trumpets’  regal  sound  the  great  result. 

Toward  the  four  winds  four  speedy  cherubim 
Put  to  their  mouths  the  sounding  alchemy,3 
By  herald’s  voice  explained ;  the  hollow  abyss 
Heard  far  and  wide,  and  all  the  host  of  Hell 
With  deafening  shout  returned  them  loud  acclaim. 


1  Element. — The  higher  atmosphere,  the  elements  filling  it. 

’  Paramount. — Chief — lord  paramount. 

*  Sounding  alchemy  — The  metal  of  which  trumpets  arc  mode. 


Book  11. — 521-553J 


PARADISE  LOST. 


41 


Thence  more  at  ease  their  minds,  and  somewhat  raised 
By  false  presnmptious  hope,  the  ranged  powers 
Disband,  and,  wandering,  each  his  several  way 
Pursues,  as  inclination  or  sad  choice 
Leads  him,  perplexed  where  he  may  likeliest  find 
Truce  to  his  restless  thoughts,  and  entertain 
The  irksome  hours,  till  his  great  chief  return. 

Part  on  the  plain,  or  in  the  air  sublime 
Upon  the  wing,  or  in  swift  race  contend, 

As  at  the  Olympian  games  or  Pythian  fields  f 
Part  curb  their  fiery  steeds,  or  shun  the  goal 
With  rapid  wheels,  or  fronted  brigads  form. 

As  when,  to  warn  proud  cities,  war  appears 
Waged  in  the  troubled  sky,  and  armies  rush 
To  battle  in  the  -clouds,  before  each  van 
Prick  forth  the  aery  knights,  and  couch  their  spears 
Till  thickest  legions  close ;  with  feats  of  arms 
From  either  end  of  heaven  the  welkin  burns. 

Others,  with  vast  Typlioean  rage,  more  fell, 

Bend  up  both  rocks  and  hills,  and  ride  the  air 
In  whirlwind.  Hell  scarce  holds  the  wild  uproar. 

As  when  Alcides,1 2  from  (Echalia  crowned 
With  conquest,  felt  the  envenomed  robe,  and  tore 
Through  pain  up  by  the  roots  Thessalian  pines, 

And  Lichas  from  the  top  of  GEta  threw 
Into  the  Euhoic  sea.  Others,  more  mild, 

Betreated  in  a  silent  valley,  sing 
With  notes  angelical  to  many  a  harp 
Their  own  heroic  deeds,  and  hapless  fall 
By  doom  of  battle ;  and  complain  that  fate 
Free  virtue  should  enthral  to  force  or  chance. 

Their  song  was  partial ;  hut  the  harmony — 

What  could  it  less  when  spirits  immortal  sing? — 


1  As  at  the  Olympian  games  or  Pythian  fields. — The  Olympic  games,  in  part  described  in  the  text,  had  descended 
as  a  custom  from  early  times  in  Greek  history,  and  were  celebrated  every  four  years.  An  Olympiad  in  Greek 
chronology  consisted  of  these  four  years. 

2  As  when  Alcides. — A  name  given  to  Hercules. 


42 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  II. -554-586 


Suspended  Hell,1  and  took  with  ravishment 
The  thronging  audience.  In  discourse  more  sweet— 
For  eloquence  the  soul,  song  charms  the  sense — 
Others  apart  sat  on  a  hill  retired, 

In  thoughts  more  elevate,  and  reasoned  high 
Of  providence,  foreknowledge,  will,  and  fate ; 

Fixed  fate,  free  will,  foreknowledge  absolute, 

And  found  no  end,  in  wandering  mazes  lost. 

Of  good  and  evil  much  they  argued  then, 

Of  happiness  and  final  misery, 

Passion  and  apathy,  and  glory  and  shame, 

Vain  wisdom  all,  and  false  philosophy. 

Yet,  with  a  pleasing  sorcery,  could  charm 
Pain  for  a  while,  or  anguish,  and  excite 
Fallacious  hope,  or  arm  the  obdured  breast 
With  stubborn  patience,  as  with  triple  steel. 

Another  part,  in  squadrons  and  gross  bands, 

On  bold  adventure  to  discover  wide 

That  dismal  world,  if  any  clime  perhaps 

Might  yield  them  easier  habitation,  bend 

Four  ways  their  flying  march,  along  the  banks 

Of  four  infernal  rivers,  that  disgorge 

Into  the  burning  lake  their  baleful  streams : 

Abhorred  Styx,  the  flood  of  deadly  hate ; 

Sad  Acheron,2  of  sorrow,  black  and  deep ; 

Cocytus,  named  of  lamentation  loud 

Heard  on  the  rueful  •  stream ;  fierce  Phlegethon,3 

Whose  waves  of  torrent  fire  inflame  with  rage. 

Far  off  from  these,  a  slow  and  silent  stream, 

Lethe,  the  river  of  oblivion,  rolls 

Her  watery  labyrinth,  whereof  who  drinks, 

Forthwith  his  former  state  and  being  forgets, 
Forgets  both  joy  and  grief,  pleasure  and  pain. 


1  Suspended  Hell. — Helped  them  to  forget  it. 

*  Sad  Acheron. — A  river  in  the  region  of  the  lost,  also  called  Cocytus,  and  said  to  utter  a  wail  of  sorrow  as  it  flows. 

*  Fierce  Phlegethon. — Another  of  the  infernal  rivers,  sometimes  described  as  the  fierce  and  bloody. 


Book  II.- 587-618] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


43 


Beyond  this  flood  a  frozen  continent 
Lies  dark  and  wild,  beat  with  perpetual  storms 
Of  whirlwind  and  dire  hail,  which  on  firm  land 
Thaws  not,  hut  gathers  heap,  and  ruin  seems 
Of  ancient  pile ;  or  else  deep  snow  and  ice, 

A  gulf  profound  as  that  Serhonian  hog1 
Betwixt  Damiata  and  mount  Casius  old, 

Where  armies  whole  have  sunk.  The  parching  air 
Burns  frore,2  and  cold  performs  the  effect  of  fire. 
Thither,  by  harpy-footed  furies  haled, 

At  certain  revolutions,  all  the  damned 
Are  brought ;  and  feel  by  turns  the  bitter  change 
Of  fierce  extremes,  extremes  by  change  more  fierce ; 
From  beds  of  raging  fire,  to  starve  in  ice 
Their  soft  ethereal  warmth,  and  there  to  pine 
Immovable,  infixed,  and  frozen  round; 

Periods  of  time  ;  thence  hurried  back  to  fire. 

They  ferry  over  this  Lethean  sound 
Both  to  and  fro,  their  sorrow  to  augment, 

And  wish  and  struggle,  as  they  pass,  to  reach 
The  tempting  stream,  with  one  small  drop  to  lose 
In  sweet  forgetfulness  all  pain  and  woe, 

All  in  one  moment,  and  so  near,  the  brink : 

But  fate  withstands,  and  to  oppose  the  attempt 
Medusa3  with  Gorgonian  terror  guards 
The  ford,  and  of  itself  the  water  flies 
All  taste  of  living  wight,  as  once  it  fled 
The  lip  of  Tantalus.  Thus  roving  on 
In  confused  march  forlorn,  the  adventurous  hands, 
With  shuddering  horror  pale,  and  eyes  aghast, 
Viewed  first  their  lamentable  lot,  and  found 
No  rest.  Through  many  a  dark  and  dreary  vale 


1  Serbonian  bog.—  A  lake,  with  its  adjacent  marsh,  near  one  of  the  mouths  of  the  Nile. 

a  Bums  frore. _ Burns  frosty.  Intense  cold  becomes  heat.  “When  the  cold  northwind  bloweth,  it  devoureth  the 

mountains,  and  burnetii  the  wildernes,  and  consumeth  the  grass  as  fire.  (Ecclus.  xlii.  20,  21.) 

3  Medusa. — One  of  the  three  fearful  sisters  known  by  the  name  of  Gorgons.  Their  heads  are  said  to  have  been 
covered  with  hissing  serpents  in  place  of  hair,  and  they  had  brazeu  claws,  enormous  teeth,  and  wings. 


44 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[IJook  II.— 619-652 


They  passed,  and  many  a  region  dolorous, 

O’er  many  a  frozen,  many  a  fiery  Alp, 

Hocks,  caves,  lakes,  fens,  bogs,  dens,  and  shades  of  death. 
A  universe  of  death,  which  God  by  curse 
Created  evil,  for  evil  only  good ; 

Where  all  life  dies,  death  lives,  and  Nature  breeds 
Perverse,  all  monstrous,  all  prodigious  things, 

Abominable,  unutterable,  and  worse 

Than  fables  yet  have  feigned,  or  fear  conceived, 

Gorgons,  and  Hydras,  and  Chimeras  dire.1 

Meanwhile,  the  adversary  of  God  and  man, 

Satan,  with  thoughts  inflamed  of  highest  design. 

Puts  on  swift  wings,  and  toward  the  gates  of  hen 

Explores  his  solitary  flight.  Sometimes 

He  scours  the  right-hand  coast,  sometimes  the  left ; 

Now  shaves  with  level  wing  the  deep,  then  soars 
Up  to  the  fiery  concave  towering  high. 

As  when  far  off  at  sea  a  fleet  descried 
Hangs  in  the  clouds,  by  equinoxial  winds 
Close  sailing  from  Bengala,  or  the  isles 
Of  Ternate  and  Tidore,  whence  merchants  bring 
Their  spicy  drugs ;  they  on  the  trading  flood, 

Through  the  wide  Ethiopian  to  the  Cape, 

Ply  stemming  nightly  toward  the  pole :  so  seemed 
Ear  off  the  flying  fiend.  At  last  appear 
Hell-bounds,  high  reaching  to  the  horrid  roof, 

And  thrice  threefold  the  gates.  Threefolds  were  brass. 
Three  iron,  three  of  adamantine  rock 
Impenetrable,  impaled  with  circling  fire, 

Yet  unconsumed.  Before  the  gates  there  sat 
On  either  side  a  formidable  shape ; 

The  one  seemed  woman  to  the  waist,  and  fair; 

But  ended  foul  in  many  a  scaly  fold 
A  oluminous  and  vast,  a  serpent  armed 


1  Oorgout,  and  Hydras ,  and  Chimeras  dire. — Virgil  and  Tasso  had  fixed  all  these  monstrous  existences  in  their 
heil  long  since. 


Gorgons,  and  Hydras,  aud  Chimeras  dive. 

Book  11.,  line  628. 


7 


Before  the  gates  there  sat 
Ou  either  side  a  formidable  shape. 


* 


Book  II.— 653-685] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


45 


With  mortal  sting.  About  her  middle  round 
A  cry  of  hell-hounds  never-ceasing  barked, 

With  wide  Cerberian  mouths,1  full  loud,  and  rumr 
A  hideous  peal.  Yet  when  they  list,  would  creep, 

If  aught  disturbed  their  noise,  into  her  womb, 

And  kennel  there;  yet  there  still  barked  and  howled 
Within,  unseen.  Ear  less  abhorred  than  these 
Vexed  Scylla,  bathing  in  the  sea  that  parts 
Calabria  from  the  hoarse  Trinacriatr  shore. 

Nor  uglier  follow  the  night-hag,  when,  called 
In  secret,  riding  through  the  air  she  comes, 

Lured  with  the  smell  of  infant  blood,  to  dance 
With  Lapland  witches,  wThile  the  labouring  moon 
Eclipses  at  their  charms.  The  other  shape, 

If  shape  it  might  be  called  that  shape  had  none 
Distinguishable  in  member,  joint,  or  limb, 

Or  substance  might  be  called  that  shadow  seemed, 

For  each  seemed  either — black  it  stood  as  Night, 
Fierce  as  ten  Furies,  terrible  as  Hell, 

And  shook  a  dreadful  dart ;  what  seemed  his  head 
The  likeness  of  a  kingly  crown  had  on. 

Satan  was  now  at  hand,  and  from  his  seat 
The  monster  moving  onward,  came  as  fast 
With  horrid  strides  ;  Hell  trembled  as  he  strode. 

The  undaunted  fiend  what  this  might  be  admired,3 
Admired,  not  feared.  God  and  His  Son  except, 
Created  thing  nought  valued  he,  nor  shunned ; 

And  with  disdainful  look  thus  first  began : 

Whence,  and  what  art  thou,  execrable  shape ! 

That  darest,  though  grim  and  terrible,  advance 
Thy  miscreated  front  athwart  my  way 
To  yonder  gates  ?  Through  them  I  mean  to  pass, 
That  be  assured,  without  leave  asked  of  thee. 


1  Cerberian  mouths. — Cerberus,  the  name  given  to  the  dog  said  to  guard  the  entrance  to  the  infernal  regions. 
Commonly  described  as  having  three  heads,  but  by  some  poet’s  as  having  many  more. 

J  Trinacrian. — Sicilian. 

Admired. — Wondered. 


46 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Hook  1 1. -686-719 


Retire,  or  taste  thy  folly,  and  learn  by  proof, 
Ilell-born,  not  to  contend  with  spirits  of  heaven ! 

To  whom  the  goblin,  full  of  wrath,  replied : 

Art  thou  that  traitor-angel,  art  thou  he, 

Who  first  broke  peace  in  Heaven,  and  faith,  till  then 
Unbroken  ;  and  in  proud  rebellious  arms, 

Drew  after  him  the  third  part  of  heaven’s  sons 
Conjured  against  the  Highest ;  for  which  both  thou 
And  they,  outcast  from  God,  are  here  condemned 
To  waste  eternal  days  in  woe  and  pain? 

And  reckonest  thou  thyself  with  Spirits  of  Heaven, 
Hell-doomed,  and  breathest  defiance  here  and  scorn, 
Where  I  reign  king,  and,  to  enrage  thee  more, 

Thy  king  and  lord?  Back  to  thy  punishment, 

False  fugitive,  and  to  thy  speed  add  wings, 

Lest  with  a  whip  of  scorpions  I  pursue 

Thy  lingering,  or  with  one  stroke  of  this  dart 

Strange  horror  seize  thee,  and  pangs  unfelt  before. 

So  spake  the  grizzly  Terror,  and  in  shape, 

So  speaking  and  so  threatening,  grew  tenfold 
More  dreadful  and  deform.  On  the  other  side, 
Incensed  with  indignation,  Satan  stood 
Unterrified,  and  like  a  comet  burned, 

That  fires  the  length  of  Ophiuchus  huge1 
In  the  arctic  sky,  and  from  his  horrid  hair 
Shakes  pestilence  and  war.  Each  at  the  head 
Levelled  his  deadly  aim ;  their  fatal  hands 
No  second  stroke  intend ;  and  such  a  frown 
Each  cast  at  the  other,  as  when  two  black  clouds, 
With  heaven’s  artillery  fraught,  come  rattling  on 
Over  the  Caspian,  then  stand  front  to  front, 

Hovering  a  space,  till  winds  the  signal  blow 
To  join  their  dark  encounter  in  mid-air: 

So  frowned  the  mighty  combatants,  that  Hell 


1  Ophiuchus  huge. — i.e.,  serpent  bolder;  one  of  the  northern  constellations. 


Book  II.— 720-755] 


PARADISE  LOST, 


47 


Grew  darker  at  their  frown;  so  matched  they  stood, 
For  never  but  once  more  was  either  like 
To  meet  so  great  a  Foe :  And  now  great  deeds 
Had  been  achieved,  whereof  all  Hell  had  rung, 

Had  not  the  snaky  sorceress  that  sat 
Fast  by  hell-gate,  and  kept  the  fatal  key, 

Risen,  and  with  hideous  outcry  rushed  between. 

0  father !  what  intends  thy  hands,  she  cried, 
Against  thy  only  son  ?  What  fury,  0  son ! 

Possesses  thee  to  bend  that  mortal  dart 
Against  thy  father’s  head  ?  and  know’st  for  whom ; 
For  Him  who  sits  above,  and  laughs  the  while 
At  tiiee  ordained  his  drudge,  to  execute 
Whate’er  His  wrath,  which  He  calls  justice,  bids ; 

His  wrath,  which  one  day  will  destroy  ye  both  !  ” 

She  spake,  and  at  her  words  the  hellish  pest 
Forebore ;  then  these  to  her  Satan  returned : 

So  strange  thy  outcry,  and  thy  words  so  strange 
Thou  interposest,  that  my  sudden  hand, 

Prevented,  spares  to  tell  thee  yet  by  deeds 
What  it  intends,  till  first  I  know  of  thee, 

What  thing  thou  art,  thus  double-formed,  and  why, 
In  this  infernal  vale  first  met,  thou  call’st 
Me  father,  and  that  phantasm  call’st  my  son  : 

I  know  thee  not,  nor  ever  saw  till  now 
Sight  more  detestible  than  him  and  thee. 

To  whom  thus  the  portress  of  hell-gate  replied  : 
Hast  thou  forgot  me  then,  and  do  I  seem 
Now  in  thine  eye  so  foul,  once  deemed  so  fair 
In  Heaven ;  when  at  the  assemby,  and  in  sight 
Of  all  the  seraphim  with  thee  combined 
In  bold  conspiracy  against  Heaven’s  King, 

All  on  a  sudden  miserable  pain 
Surprised  thee ;  dim  thine  eyes,  and  dizzy  swum 
In  darkness,  while  thy  head  flames  thick  and  fast 
Threw  forth  ;  till,  on  the  left  side  opening  wide, 


4H 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Hook  II. — 756-791 


Likest  to  thee  in  shape  and  countenance  bright, 

Then  shining  heavenly  fair,  a  goddess  armed, 

Out  of  thy  head  1  sprung.  Amazement  seized 
All  the  host  of  heaven ;  back  they  recoiled  afraid 
At  first,  and  called  me  Sin,  and  for  a  sign 
Portentous  held  me ;  but,  familiar  grown, 

I  pleased,  and  with  attractive  graces  won 
The  most  averse,  thee  chiefly,  who  full  oft 
Thyself  in  me  thy  perfect  image  viewing, 

Became  enamoured,  and  such  joy  thou  took’st 
With  me  in  secret,  that  my  womb  conceived 
A  growing  burden.  Meanwhile  war  arose, 

And  fields  were  fought  in  heaven ;  wherein  remained — 
•  For  what  could  else? — to  our  Almighty  Foe 
Clear  victory ;  to  our  part  loss  and  rout, 

Through  all  the  Empyrean.  Down  they  fell, 

Driven  headlong  from  the  pitch  of  heaven,  down 
Into  this  deep ;  and  in  the  general  fall, 

I  also ;  at  which  time,  this  powerful  key 
Into  my  hand  was  given,  with  charge  to  keep 
These  gates  for  ever  shut,  which  none  can  pass 
Without  my  opening.  Pensive  here  I  sat 
Alone ;  but  long  I  sat  not,  till  my  womb, 

Pregnant  by  thee,  and  now  excessive  grown, 

Prodigious  motion  felt,  and  rueful  throes. 

At  last  this  odious  offspring  whom  thou  seest, 

Thine  own  begotten,  breaking  violent  way, 

Tore  through  my  entrails,  that,  with  fear  and  pain 
Distorted,  all  my  nether  shape  thus  grew 
Transformed.  But  he  my  inbred  enemy 
Forth  issued,  brandishing  his  fatal  dart. 

Made  to  destroy.  I  fled,  and  cried  out  Death  ! 

Hell  trembled  at  the  hideous  name,  and  sighed 
Far  from  her  caves,  and  back  resounded,  Death 
I  tied ;  but  he  pursued — though  more,  it  seems, 
Inflamed  with  lust  than  rage — and,  swifter  far, 


Book  II.-  792-825] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


4y 

Me  overtook,  his  mother,  all  dismayed, 

And  in  embraces  forcible  and  foul 
Ingendering  with  me,  of  that  rape  begot 
These  yelling  monsters,  that  with  ceaseless  cry 
Surround  me,  as  thou  sawest  ;  hourly  conceived 
And  hourly  born,  with  sorrow  infinite 
To  me ;  for,  when  they  list,  into  the  womb 
That  bred  them  they  return,  and  howl,  and  gnaw 
My  bowels,  their  repast  ;  then  bursting  forth 
Afresh,  with  conscious  terrors  vex  me  round. 

That  rest  or  intermission  none  I  find. 

Before  mine  eyes  in  opposition  sits 

Grim  Death,  my  son  and  foe,  who  sets  them  on, 

And  me  his  parent  would  full  soon  devour 
For  want  of  other  prey,  but  that  he  knows 
His  end  with  mine  involved  -,1  and  knows  that  I 
Should  prove  a  bitter  morsel,  and  his  bane, 

Whenever  that  shall  be ;  so  fate  pronounced. 

But  thou,  0  father,  I  forewarn  thee,  shun 
His  deadly  arrow ;  neither  vainly  hope 
To  be  invulnerable  in  those  bright  arms, 

Though  tempered  heavenly;  for  that  mortal  dint, 

Save  He  who  reigns  above,  none  can  resist. 

She  finished ;  and  the  subtle  fiend  his  lore 
Soon  learned,  now  milder,  and  thus  answered  smooth : 

Dear  daughter,  since  thou  claim’st  me  for  thy  sire, 

And  my  fair  son  here  show’st  me,  the  dear  pledge 
Of  dalliance  had  with  thee  in  heaven,  and  joys 
Then  sweet,  now  sad  to  mention,  through  dire  change 
Befallen  us,  unforeseen,  unthought  of ;  know, 

I  come  no  enemy,  but  to  set  free 
From  out  this  dark  and  dismal  house  of  pain 
Both  him  and  thee,  and  all  the  heavenly  host 
Of  spirits,  that,  in  our  just  pretences  armed, 


IJ'w  end  with  mine  involved..—  As  death  came  by  sin,  the  destruction  of  sin  would  bring  an  end  to  death. 


50 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  II.— 826-859 


Fell  with  us  from  on  high.  From  them  I  go 
This  uncouth  errand  sole ;  and,  one  for  all, 

Myself  expose,  with  lonely  steps  to  tread 
The  unfounded  deep,  and  through  the  void  immense 
To  search  with  wandering  quest  a  place  foretold 
Should  he,  and,  by  concurring  signs,  ere  now 
Created,  vast  and  round,  a  place  of  bliss 
In  the  purlieus1  of  heaven,  and  therein  placed 
A  race  of  upstart  creatures,  to  supply 
Perhaps  our  vacant  room ;  though  more  removed, 

Lest  heaven,  surcharged  with  potent  multitude, 

Might  hap  to  move  new  broils.  Be  this  or  aught 
Than  this  more  secret  now  designed,  I  haste 
To  know;  and,  this  once  known,  shall  soon  return, 

And  bring  ye  to  the  place  where  thou  and  Death 
Shall  dwell  at  ease,  and  up  and  down  unseen 
Wing  silently  the  buxom  air,2  embalmed 
With  odours;  there  ye  shall  be  fed  and  filled  # 
Immeasurably,  all  things  shall  he  your  prey. 

He  ceased,  for  both  seemed  highly  pleased ;  and  Death 
Grinned  horrible  a  ghastly  smile,  to  hear 
His  famine  should  he  filled ;  and  blessed  his  maw 
Destined  to  that  good  hour.  No  less  rejoiced 
His  mother  had,  and  thus  bespake  her  sire : 

The  key  of  this  infernal  pit  by  due, 

And  by  command  of  heaven’s  all-powerful  King, 

I  keep,  by  him  forbidden  to  unlock 
These  adamantine  gates ;  against  all  force 
Death  ready  stands  to  interpose  his  dart, 

Fearless  to  be  o’ermatched  by  living  might. 

But  what  owe  I  to  His  commands  above 
Who  hates  me,  and  hath  hither  thrust  me  down 
Into  this  gloom  of  Tartarus  profound, 

To  sit  in  hateful  office  here  confined, 


1  Purlieus . — Adjacent  and  open  parts.  2  The  buxom  air. — Light,  yielding. 


0 


Book  II.— 860-893] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


51 


Inhabitant  of  heaven,  and  heavenly  horn, 

Here,  in  perpetual  agony  and  pain, 

With  terrors  and  with  clamours  compassed  round 
Of  mine  own  brood,  that  on  my  bowels  feed? 

Thou  art  my  father,  thou  my  author,  thou 
My  being  gavest  me ;  whom  should  I  obey 
But  thee?  whom  follow?  Thou  wilt  bring  me  soon 
To  that  new  world  of  light  and  bliss,  among 
The  gods  who  live  at  ease,  where  I  shall  reign 
At  thy  right  hand  voluptuous,  as  beseems 
Thy  daughter  and  thy  darling,  without  end. 

Thus  saying,  from  her  side  the  fatal  key, 

Sad  instrument  of  all  our  woe,  she  took ; 

And  towards  the  gate  rolling  her  bestial  train, 
Forthwith  the  huge  portcullis  high  updrew, 

Which  hut  herself,  not  all  the  Stygian  powers 
Could  once  have  moved  ;  then  in  the  key-hole  turns 
The  intricate  wards,  and  every  bolt  and  bar 
Of  massy  iron  or  solid  rock  with  ease 
Unfastens.  On  a  sudden  open  fly, 

With  impetuous  recoil  and  jarring  sound, 

The  infernal  doors,  and  on  their  hinges  -  grate 
Harsh  thunder,  that  the  lowest  bottom  shook 
Of  Erebus.1  She  opened,  but  to  shut 
Excelled  her  power :  the  gates  wide  open  stood 
That  with  extended  wings  a  bannered  host, 

Under  spread  ensigns  marching,  might  pass  through, 
With  horse  and  chariots  ranked  in  loose  array ; 

So  wide  they  stood,  and  like  a  furnace-mouth 
Cast  forth  redounding  smoke  and  ruddy  flame. 

Before  their  eyes  in  sudden  view  appear 
The  secrets  of  the  hoary  deep ;  a  dark 
Illimitable  ocean,  without  bound, 

Without  dimension,  where  length,  breadth,  and  height, 


1  Erebus.—  Dark  shades  below,  through  which  spirits  were  supposed  to  pass  into  Hades. 


52 


PARADISE  LOST, 


[Book  II.- 894-929 

And  time,  and  place,  are  lost;  where  eldest  Night 
And  Chaos,  ancestors  of  Nature,  hold 
Eternal  anarchy,  amidst  the  noise 
Of  endless  wars,  and  hy  confusion  stand. 

For  Hot,  Cold,  Moist,  and  Dry,  four  champions  fierce, 

Strive  here  for  mastery,  and  to  battle  bring 
Their  embryon  atoms ;  they  around  the  Hag 
Of  each  his  faction,  in  their  several  clans, 

Light-armed  or  heavy,  sharp,  smooth,  swift,  or  slow, 

Swarm  populous,  unnumbered  as  the  sands 
Of  Barca  or  Cyrene’s  torrid  soil, 

Levied  to  side  with  warring  winds,  and  poise 
Their  lighter  wings.  To  whom  these  most  adhere 
He  rules  a  moment.  Chaos  umpire  sits, 

And  by  decision  more  embroils  the  fray 
By  which  he  reigns.  Next  him,  high  arbiter, 

Chance  governs  all.  Into  this  wild  abyss, 

The  womb  of  Nature,  and  perhaps  her  grave, 

Of  neither  sea,  nor  shore,  nor  air  nor  fire, 

But  all  these  in  their  pregnant  causes  mixed 
Confusedly,  and  which  thus  must  ever  fight, 

Unless  the  Almighty  Maker  them  ordain 
His  dark  materials  to  create  more  worlds ; 

Into  this  wild  abyss,  the  wary  fiend 

Stood  on  the  brink  of  hell,  and  looked  awhile, 

Pondering  his  voyage ;  for  no  narrow  frith 
He  had  to  cross.  Nor  was  his  ear  less  pealed 
With  noises  loud  and  ruinous — to  compare 
Great  things  with  small — than  when  Bellona  storms 
With  all  her  battering  engines  bent  to  raze 
Some  capital  city ;  or  less  than  if  this  frame 
Of  heaven  were  falling,  and  these  elements 
In  mutiny  had  from  her  axle  torn 
The  steadfast  earth.  At  last  his  sail-broad  vans 
He  spreads  for  flight,  and  in  the  surging  smoke 
Uplifted  spurns  the  ground ;  thence  many  a  league, 


9  With  heads,  hands,  wings,  or  feet,  pursues  his  way, 

And  swims,  or  sinks,  or  wades,  or  creeps,  or  flies. 

Boole  II.,  lines  949,  950. 


Boox  II.— 930-961] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


53 


As  in  a  cloudy  chair,  ascending,  rides 
Audacious ;  but,  that  seat  soon  failing,  meets 
A  vast  vacuity.  All  unawares, 

Fluttering  his  pennons  vain,  plumb  down  he  drops 
Ten  thousand  fathom  deep ;  and  to  this  hour 
Down  had  been  falling,  had  not,  by  ill  chance, 

The  strong  rebuff  of  some  tumultuous  cloud, 

Instinct  with  fire  and  nitre,  hurried  him 
As  many  miles  aloft.  That  fury  stayed, 

Quenched  in  a  boggy  syrtis,  neither  sea, 

Nor  good  dry  land;  nigh  foundered,  on  he  fares, 
Treading  the  crude  consistence,  half  on  foot, 

Half  flying.  Behoves  him  now  both  oar  and  sail. 

As  when  a  gryphon,  through  the  wilderness 
With  winged  course,  o’er  hill  or  moory  dale, 

Pursues  the  Arimaspian,1  who  by  stealth 

Had  from  his  wakeful  custody  purloined 

The  guarded  gold :  so  eagerly  the  fiend 

O’er  bog,  or  steep,  through  strait,  rough,  dense,  or  rare, 

With  head,  hands,  wings,  or  feet,  pursues  his  way, 

And  swims,  or  sinks,  or  wades,  or  creeps,  or  flies. 

At  length  a  universal  hubbub  wild, 

Of  stunning  sounds,  and  voices  all  confused, 

Borne  through  the  hollow  dark,  assaults  his  ear 
With  loudest  vehemence.  Thither  he  plies, 

Undaunted,  to  meet  there  whatever  power 

Or  spirit  of  the  nethermost  abyss 

Might  in  that  noise  reside,  of  whom  to  ask 

Which  way  the  nearest  coast  of  darkness  lies 

Bordering  on  light ;  when  straight  behold  the  throne 

Of  Chaos,2 3  and  his  dark  pavilion  spread 

Wide  on  the  wasteful  deep ;  with  him  enthroned 


1  A  gryphon  .  .  .  pursues  the  Arimaspian. — Gryplions  were  fabulous  animals,  half  eagle,  half  lion,  and  supposed 

to  be  the  special  guardians  of  gold  mines;  while  the  Arimaspiaus  were  a  people  skilled  and  brave  in  possessing 
themselves  of  that  sort  of  treasure. 

3  Chaos. — The  spirit  supposed  to  have  its  home  amidst  the  “unformed  and  void.” 


54 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  II.— 962-993 


Sat  sable- vested  Night,  eldest  of  things,1 
The  consort  of  his  reign ;  and  hy  them  stood 
Orcus  and  Hades,2  and  the  dreaded  name 
Of  Demogorgon  ;3  Humour  next,  and  Chance, 

And  Tumult,  and  Confusion,  all  embroiled, 

And  Discord,  with  a  thousand  various  mouths. 

To  whom  Satan  turning  boldly,  thus :  Ye  powers 
And  spirits  of  this  nethermost  abyss, 

Chaos  and  ancient  Night,  I  come  no  spy, 

With  purpose  to  explore  or  to  disturb 
The  secrets  of  your  realm ;  but,  by  constraint 
Wandering  this  darksome  desert,  as  my  way 
Lies  through  your  spacious  empire  up  to  light, 

Alone,  and  without  guide,  half  lost,  I  seek 

What  readiest  path  leads  where  your  gloomy  bounds 

Confine  with  heaven ;  or,  if  some  other  place, 

From  your  dominion  won  the  ethereal  King 
Possesses  lately,  thither  to  arrive 
I  travel  this  profound ;  direct  my  course ; 

Directed,  no  mean  recompense  it  brings 
To  your  behoof,  if  I  that  region  lost, 

All  usurpation  thence  expelled,  reduce 
To  her  original  darkness,  and  your  sway — 

Which  is  my  present  journey — and  once  more 
Erect  the  standard  there  of  ancient  Night. 

Yours  be  the  advantage  all,  mine  the  revenge. 

Thus  Satan  :  and  him  thus  the  Anarch  old, 

With  faltering  speech  and  visage  incomposed, 

Answered  :  I  know  thee,  stranger,  who  thou  art ; 

That  mighty  leading  Angel,  who  of  late 

Made  head  ’gainst  heaven’s  King,  though  overthrown. 

I  saw  and  heard ;  for  such  a  numerous  host 


'Night,  eldest  of  things. — The  command,  “Let  there  be  light,”  supposes  darkness — night  to  be  older  than  day, 
than  creation. 

‘  Orcus  and  Hades. — Orcus  is  supposed  to  mean  Pluto — Hades  his  dark  home. 

3  Demogorgon. — An  infernal  deity,  believed  to  be  of  great  power;  the  most  frightful  effects  were  supposed  to 
follow  from  the  skilled  use  of  his  name. 


Book  II.— 994-1029] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


55 


Fled  not  in  silence  through  the  frighted  deep, 

With  ruin  upon  ruin,  rout  on  rout, 

Confusion  worse  confounded ;  and  heaven-gates 
Poured  out  by  millions  her  victorious  bands, 
Pursuing.  I  upon  my  frontiers  here 
Keep  residence ;  if  all  I  can  will  serve 
That  little  which  is  left  so  to  defend, 

Encroached  on  still  through  your  intestine  broils 
Weakening  the  sceptre  of  old  Night.  First  Hell, 
Your  dungeon,  stretching  far  and  wide  beneath ; 
Now  lately  heaven  and  earth  another  world, 

Hung  o’er  my  realm,  linked  in  a  golden  chain, 

To  that  side  heaven,  from  whence  your  legions  fell. 
If  that  way  be  your  walk,  you  have  not  far ; 

So  much  the  nearer  danger ;  go,  and  speed ; 

Havoc,  and  spoil,  and  ruin,  are  my  gain. 

He  ceased ;  and  Satan  stayed  not  to  reply, 
But,  glad  that  now  his  sea  should  find  a  shore, 
With  fresh  alacrity  and  force  renewed, 

Springs  upward  like  a  pyramid  of  fire, 

Into  the  wild  expanse,  and,  through  the  shock 
Of  fighting  elements,  on  all  sides  round 
Environed,  wins  his  way ;  harder  beset 
And  more  endangered,  than  when  Argo  passed 
Through  Bosphorus,  betwixt  the  justling  rocks  ; 

Or  when  Ulysses  on  the  larboard  shunned 
Charybdis,  and  by  the  other  whirlpool  steered. 

So  he  with  difficulty  and  labour  hard 
Moved  on,  with  difficulty  and  labour  he ; 

But  he  once  passed,  soon  after,  when  man  fell — 
Strange  alteration  ! — Sin  and  Death  amain 
Following  his  track,  such  was  the  will  of  Heaven3 
Paved  after  him  a  broad  and  beaten  way 
Over  the  dark  abyss,  whose  boiling  gulf 
Tamely  endured  a  bridge  of  wondrous  length, 

From  hell  continued,  reaching  the  utmost  orb 


56 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Hook  II.— 1030-1055 


Of  this  frail  world:  by  which  the  spirits  perverse 
With  easy  intercourse  pass  to  and  fro 
To  tempt  or  punish  mortals,  except  whom 
God  and  good  Angels  guard  by  special  grace. 

But  now  at  last  the  sacred  influence 
Of  light  appears,  and  from  the  walls  of  heaven 
Shoots  far  into  the  bosom  of  dim  Night 
A  glimmering  dawn.  Here  Nature  first  begins 
Her  farthest  verge,  and  Chaos  to  retire, 

As  from  her  outmost  works,  a  broken  foe, 

With  tumult  less,  and  with  less  hostile  din, 

That  Satan  with  less  toil,  and  now  with  ease 
Wafts  on  the  calmer  wave  by  dubious  light, 

And,  like  a  weather-beaten  vessel,  holds 

Gladly  the  port,  though  shrouds  and  tackle  torn ; 

Or  in  the  emptier  waste,  resembling  air, 

Weighs  his  spread  wings,  at  leisure  to  behold 
Far  off  the  empyreal  heaven,  extended  wide 
In  circuit,  undetermined  square  or  round, 

With  opal  towers  and  battlements  adorned 
Of  living  sapphire,  once  his  native  seat ; 

And  fast  by,  hanging  in  a  golden  chain, 

This  pendent  world,  in  bigness  as  a  star 
Of  smallest  magnitude, .  close  by  the  moon. 

Thither,  full  fraught  with  mischievous  revenge, 
Accursed,  and  in  a  cursed  hour,  he  hies. 


BOOK  III. 


God,  siting  on  His  throne,  sees  Satan  flying  towards  this  world,  then  newly  created:  shows  him  to  the  Son,  who 
sat  at  His  right  hand:  foretells  the  success  of  Satan  in  perverting  mankind ;  clears  His  own  justice  and  wis¬ 
dom  from  all  imputation,  having  created  man  free,  and  able  enough  to  have  withstood  his  tempter;  yet  de¬ 
clares  His  purpose  of  grace  towards  him,  in  regard  he  fell  not  of  his  own  malice,  as  did  Satan,  but  by  him 
seduced.  The  Son  of  God  renders  praise  to  His  Father  for  the  manifestation  of  His  gracious  purpose  to¬ 
wards  man;  but  God  again  declares  that  grace  cannot  be  extended  towards  man  without  the  satisfaction  of 
Divine  justice.  Man  hath  offjuded  the  majesty  of  God  by  aspiring  to  Godhead,  and,  therefore,  with  all  his 
progeny,  devoted  to  death,  must  die,  unless  some  one  can  be  found  sufficient  to  answer  for  his  offence,  and 
undergo  his  punishment.  The  Son  of  God  freely  offers  Himself  a  ransom  for  man :  The  Father  accepts  Him, 
ordains  His  incarnation,  pronounces  His  exaltation  above  all  names  in  heaven  and  earth ;  commands  all  the 
angels  to  adore  Him.  They  obey,  and  by  hymning  to  their  harps  in  full  quire,  celebrate  the  Father  and  the 
Son.  Meanwhile,  Satan  alights  upon  the  bare  convex  of  this  world’s  outermost  orb;  where  wandering,  he 
first  finds  a  place,  since  called  the  Limbo  of  Vanity:  what  persons  and  things  fly  up  thither:  thence  comes  to 
the  gates  of  heaven,  described  ascending  by  stairs,  and  the  waters  above  the  firmament  that  flow  about  it: 
his  passage  thence  to  the  orb  of  the  sun;  he  finds  there  Uriel,  the  regent  of  that  orb,  but  first  changes  him¬ 
self  into  the  shape  of  a  meaner  angel;  and,  pretending  a  zealous  desire  to  behold  the  new  creation,  and  man, 
whom  God  had  placed  there,  inquires  of  him  the  place  of  his  habitation,  and  is  directed :  alights  first  on 
Mount  Niphates. 

H  AIL,  holy  Light !  offspring  of  Heaven  first  horn  I1 
Or  of  the  eternal  co-eternal  beam, 

May  I  express  thee  unblamed?  since  God  is  light, 

And  never  but  in  unapproached  light 
Dwelt  from  eternity,  dwelt  then  in  thee, 

Bright  effluence  of  bright  essence  increate . 

Or  hear’st  thou  rather,  pure  ethereal  stream, 

Whose  fountain  who  shall  tell?  Before  the  sun, 

Before  the  heavens  thou  wert,  and  at  the  voice 
Of  God,  as  with  a  mantle,  didst  invest 
The  rising  world  of  waters  dark  and  deep, 

Won  from  the  void  and  formless  infinite. 

Thee  I  revisit  now  with  holder  wing, 

Escaped  the  Stygian  pool,  though  long  detained 
In  that  obscure  sojourn,  while  in  my  flight 
Through  utter  and  through  middle  darkness  borne, 

With  other  notes  than  to  the  Orphean  lyre, 

I  sung  of  Chaos  and  eternal  Night ; 

1  Offspring  of  Heaven  first-lorn—  The  reader  will  remember  that  Milton  was  a  blind  bard  while  giving  us  the 
inspirations  of  “Paradise  Lost.”  Literature  has  nothing  more  beautiful  or  affecting  than  the  touching  lament  which 
here  comes  from  the  heart  of  the  poet. 


58 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  III.— 19-50 


Taught  by  the  heavenly  muse  to  venture  down 
The  dark  descent,  and  up  to  reascend, 

Though  hard  and  rare ; — thee  I  revisit  safe. 

And  feel  thy  sovereign  vital  lamp ;  hut  thou 
Kevisit’st  not  these  eyes,  that  roll  in  vain 
To  find  thy  piercing  ray,  and  find  no  dawn : 

So  thick  a  drop  serene  hath  quenched  their  orbs, 
Or  dim  suffusion  veiled.  Yet  not  the  more 
Cease  I  to  wander  where  the  Muses  haunt, 

Clear  spring,  or  shady  grove,  or  sunny  hill, 

Smit  with  the  love  of  sacred  *  song ;  hut  chief 
Thee,  Sion,  and  the  flowery  brooks  beneath, 

That  wash  thy  hallowed  feet,  and  warbling  flow, 
Nightly  I  visit :  nor  sometimes  forget 
Those  other  two  equalled  with  me  in  fate, 

So  were  I  equalled  with  them  in  renown, 

Blind  Thamyris,  and  blind  Mseonides,1 * 
And  Tiresias,  and  Phineus,3  prophets  old : 

Then  feed  on  thoughts,  that  voluntary  move 
Harmonious  numbers ;  as  the  wakeful  bird 
Sings  darkling,  and  in  shadiest  covert  hid, 

Tunes  her  nocturnal  note.3  Thus  with  the  year 
Seasons  return ;  hut  not  to  me  returns 
Day,  or  the  sweet  approach  of  even  or  morn, 

Or  sight  of  vernal  bloom,  or  summer’s  rose, 

Or  flocks,  or  herds,  or  human  face  divine ; 

But  cloud  instead,  and  ever-during  dark 
Surrounds  me,  from  the  cheerful  ways  of  men 
Cut  off,  and  for  the  hook  of  knowledge  fair 
Presented  with  a  universal  blank 
Of  Nature’s  works,  to  me  expunged  and  rased, 
And  wisdom  at  one  entrance  quite  shut  out. 


1  Thamyris  and  blind  Mceonides. — Thamyris  was  a  Thracian  poet,  mentioned  by  Homer.  Mseonides  was  a  name 
given  to  Homer  himself,  from  his  father,  Meon. 

*  Tiresias  and  Phineus.  —  The  first  a  ThebaD,  the  second  a  King  of  Arcadia,  both  celebrated  in  antiquity  as  men 
who  gave  prophesies  in  verse  when  blind. 

3  Nocturnal  note. — The  nightingale. 


Book  III.— 51-86] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


59 


So  much  the  rather  thou,  celestial  light, 

Shine  inward,  and  the  mind  through  all  her  powers 
Irradiate ;  there  plant  eyes,  all  mist  from  thence 
Purge  and  disperse,  that  I  may  see  and  tell 
Of  things  invisible  to  mortal  sight. 

Now  had  the  Almighty  Father  from  above, 
From  the  pure  Empyrean  where  he  sits 
High  throned  above  all  height,  bent  down  his  eye. 
His  own  works,  and  their  works  at  once  to  view : 
About  him  all  the  sanctities  of  heaven 
Stood  thick  as  stars,  and  from  his  sight  received 
Beatitude  past  utterance ;  on  his  right 
The  radiant  image  of  his  glory  sat, 

His  only  Son.  On  earth  he  first  beheld 
Our  two  first  parents,  yet  the  only  two 
Of  mankind,  in  the  happy  garden  placed, 

Reaping  immortal  fruits  of  joy  and  love, 
Uninterrupted  joy,  unrivalled  love, 

In  blissful  solitude.  He  then  surveyed 
Hell  and  the  gulf  between,  and  Satan  there 
Coasting  the  wall  of  heaven  on  this  side  Night 
In  the  dun  air  sublime,  and  ready  now 
To  stoop  with  wearied  wings,  and  willing  feet, 

On  the  bare  outside  of  this  world,  that  seemed 
Firm  land  imbosomed,  without  firmament, 

Uncertain  which,  in  ocean  or  in  air. 

Him  God  beholding  from  his  prospect  high, 

Wherein  past,  present,  future,  he  beholds, 

Thus  to  his  only  Son  foreseeing  spake : 

Only- begotten  Son,  seest  thou  what  rage 
Transports  our  adversary?  whom  no  bounds 
Prescribed,  no  bars  of  Hell,  nor  all  the  chains 
Heaped  on  him  there,  nor  yet  the  main  abyss 
Wide  interrupt,  can  hold ;  so  bent  he  seems 
On  desperate  revenge,  that  shall  redound 
Upon  his  own  rebellious  head.  And  now, 


GO 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  111.-87-1211 


Through  all  restraint  broke  loose,  he  wings  his  way 
Not  far  off  heaven,  in  the  precincts  of  light, 

Directly  towards  the  new-created  world, 

And  man  there  placed,  with  purpose  to  essay 
If  him  by  force  he  can  destroy,  or,  worse, 

By  some  false  guile  pervert ;  and  shall  pervert ; 

For  man  will  hearken  to  his  glozing  lies, 

And  easily  transgress  the  sole  command, 

Sole  pledge  of  his  obedience.  So  will  fall 
He  and  his  faithless  progeny.  Whose  fault? 

Whose  but  his  own?  Ingrate,  he  had  of  me 
All  he  could  have.  I  made  him  just  and  right, 
Sufficient  to  have  stood,  though  free  to  fall. 

Such  I  created  all  the  ethereal  powers 

And  spirits,  both  them  who  stood,  and  them  who  failed ; 

Freely  they  stood  who  stood,  and  fell  who  fell. 

Not  free,  what  proof  could  they  have  given  sincere 
Of  true  allegiance,  constant  faith,  or  love, 

Where  only  what  they  needs  must  do  appeared, 

Not  what  they  would?  What  praise  could  they  receive? 
What  pleasure  I  from  such  obedience  paid  ? 

AThen  will  and  reason — reason  also  is  choice — • 

Useless  and  vain,  of  freedom  both  despoiled, 

Made  passive  both,  had  served  necessity, 

Not  me?  They  therefore,  as  to  right  belonged, 

So  were  created,  nor  can  justly  accuse 
Their  maker,  or  their  making,  or  their  fate, 

As  if  predestination  overruled 

Their  will,  disposed  by  absolute  decree 

Or  high  foreknowledge.  They  themselves  decreed 

Their  own  revolt,  not  I.  If  I  foreknew, 

Foreknowledge  had  no  influence  on  their  fault, 

Which  had  no  less  proved  certain  unforeknown. 

So  without  least  impulse  or  shadow  of  fate, 

Or  aught  by  me  immutably  foreseen, 

They  trespass,  authors  to  themselves  in  all 


.Iiooiv  III.— 123-158] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


61 


Both  what  they  judge,  and  what  they  choose  ;  for  so 
I  formed  them  free :  and  free  they  must  remain, 

Till  they  enthrall  themselves ;  I  else  must  change 
Their  nature,  and  revoke  the  hiffh  decree 

7  O 

Unchangeable,  eternal,  which  ordained 
Their  freedom;  they  themselves  ordained  their  fall. 
The  first  sort  by  their  own  suggestion  fell. 
Self-tempted,  self-depraved :  Man  falls  ,  deceived 
By  the  other  first:  Man  therefore  shall  find  grace, 
The  other  none.  In  mercy  and  justice  both, 

Through  heaven  and  earth,  so  shall  my  glory  excel ; 
But  mercy  first  and  last  shall  brightest  shine. 

Thus  while  God  spake,  ambrosial  fragrance  filled 
All  heaven,  and  in  the  blessed  spirits  elect 
Sense  of  new  joy  ineffable  diffused. 

Beyond  compare  the  Son  of  God  was  seen 
Most  glorious  :  in  him  all  his  Father  shone 
Substantially  expressed ;  and  in  his  face 
Divine  compassion  visibly  appeared, 

Love  without  end,  and  without  measure  grace, 

Which  uttering,  thus  he  to  his  Father  spake : 

0  Father,  gracious  was  that  word  which  closed 
Thy  sovereign  sentence,  that  man  should  find  grace ; 
For  which  both  heaven  and  earth  shall  high  extol 
Thy  praises,  with  the  innumerable  sound 
Of  hymns  and  sacred  songs,  wherewith  thy  throne 
Encompassed  shall  resound  thee  ever  blessed. 

For  should  Man  finally  be  lost,  should  Man, 

Thy  creature  late  so  loved,  thy  youngest  son, 

Fall  circumvented  thus  by  fraud,  though  joined 
With  his  own  folly?  That  be  from  thee  far, 

That  far  be  from  thee,  Father,  who  art  judge 
Of  all  things  made,  andjudgest  only  right. 

Or  shall  the  Adversary  thus  obtain 

His  end,  and  frustrate  thine  ?  Shall  he  fulfil 

His  malice,  and  thy  goodness  bring  to  nought; 


62 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  III.— 159-194 


Or  proud  return,  though  to  his  heavier  doom, 

Yet  with  revenge  accomplished,  and  to  Hell 
Draw  after  him  the  whole  race  of  mankind, 

By  him  corrupted?  Or  wilt  thou  thyself 
Abolish  thy  creation,  and  unmake, 

For  him,  what  for  thy  glory  thou  hast  made? 

So  should  thy  goodness  and  thy  greatness  both 
Be  questioned  and  blasphemed  without  defence. 

To  whom  the  great  Creator  thus  replied : 

0  Sonj  in  whom  my  soul  hath  chief  delight, 

Son  of  my  bosom,  Son  who  art  alone 
My  word,  my  wisdom,  and  effectual  might, 

All  hast  thou  spoken  as  my  thoughts  are,  all 
As  my  eternal  purpose  hath  decreed. 

Man  shall  not  quite  he  lost,  hut  saved  who  will ; 
Yet  not  of  will  in  him,  hut  grace  in  me 
Freely  vouchsafed.  Once  more  I  will  renew 
His  lapsed  powers,  though  forfeit,  and  enthralled 
By  sin  to  foul  exorbitant  desires ; 

Upheld  by  me,  yet  once  more  he  shall  stand 
On  even  ground  against  his  mortal  foe ; 

By  me  upheld,  that  he  may  know  how  frail 
His  fallen  condition  is,  and  to  me  owe 
All  his  deliverance,  and  to  none  hut  me. 

Some  I  have  chosen  of  peculiar  grace, 

Elect  above  the  rest ;  so  is  my  will : 

The  rest  shall  hear  me  call,  and  oft  be  warned 
Their  sinful  state,  and  to  appease  betimes 
The  incensed  Deity,  while  offered  grace 
Invites ;  for  I  will  clear  their  senses  dark, 

What  may  suffice,  and  soften  stony  hearts 
To  pray,  repent,  and  bring  obedience  due, 

To  prayer,  repentance,  and  obedience  due, 

Though  but  endeavoured  with  sincere  intent, 

Mine  ear  shall  not  be  slow,  mine  eye  not  shut. 
And  I  will  place  within  them  as  a  guide 


Book  III.— 195-227] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


63 


My  umpire,  Conscience ;  whom  if  they  will  hear, 

Light  after  light,  well  used,  they  shall  attain, 

And  to  the  end  persisting,  safe  arrive. 

This  my  long  sufferance,  and  my  day  of  grace, 

They  who  neglect  and  scorn,  shall  never  taste ; 

But  hard  he  hardened,  blind  be  blinded  more, 

That  they  may  stumble  on,  and  deeper  fall ; 

And  none  hut  such  from  mercy  I  exclude. 

But  yet  all  is  not  done ;  man  disobeying, 

Disloyal,  breaks  his  fealty,  and  sins 
Against  the  high  supremacy  of  Heaven, 

Affecting  Godhead,  and,  so  losing  all, 

To  expiate  his  treason  hath  nought  left, 

But  to  destruction  sacred  and  devote,1 
He,  with  his  whole  posterity,  must  die. 

Die  he  or  Justice  must ;  unless  for  him 
Some  other  able,  and  as  willing,  pay 
The  rigid  satisfaction,  death  for  death. 

Say,  heavenly  Powers,  where  shall  we  find  such  love? 
Which  of  ye  will  be  mortal,  to  redeem 
Man’s  mortal  crime,  and  just  the  unjust  to  save? 
Dwells  in  all  Heaven  charity  so  dear? 

He  asked,  but  all  the  heavenly  quire  stood  mute. 
And  silence  was  in  Heaven.  On  man’s  behalf 
Patron  or  intercessor  none  appeared, 

Much  less  than  durst  upon  his  own  head  draw 
The  deadly  forfeiture,  and  ransom  set. 

And  now  without  redemption  all  mankind 

Must  have  been  lost,2  adjudged  to  Death  and  Hell 

By  doom  severe,  had  not  the  Son  of  God, 

In  whom  the  fulness  dwells  of  love  divine, 

His  dearest  mediation  thus  renewed : 

Father,  thy  word  is  passed,  man  shall  find  grace ; 


1  Sacred  and  devote. — A  phrase  from  the  Roman  law,  denoting  one  justly  exposed  to  death. 

2  All  mankind  must  have  been  lost.— This  assumes  that  the  human  race  must  have  been  perpetuated  notwithstanding 
the  entrance  of  sin.  But  was  that  necessary  ?  Was  it  probable  ? 


64 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  III.—  228-263 


And  shall  grace  not  find  means,  that  finds  her  way, 
The  speediest  of  thy  winged  messengers, 

To  visit  all  thy  creatures,  and  to  all 
Comes  unprevented,  unimplored,  unsought? 

Happy  for  Man,  so  coming ;  he  her  aid 
Can  never  seek,  once  dead  in  sins,  and  lost ; 
Atonement  for  himself,  or  offering  meet, 

Indebted  and  undone,  hath  none  to  bring. 

Behold  me,  then ;  me  for  him,  life  for  life 
I  offer;  on  me  let  thine  anger  fall; 

Account  me  Man :  I  for  his  sake  will  leave 

Thy  bosom,  and  this  glory  next  to  Thee 

Freely  put  off,  and  for  him  lastly  die 

Well  pleased;  on  me  let  Heath  wreak  all  his  rage; 

Under  his  gloomy  power  I  shall  not  long 

Lie  vanquished.  Thou  hast  given  me  to  possess 

Life  in  myself  for  ever ;  by  thee  I  live, 

Though  now  to  Death  I  yield,  and  am  his  due, 

All  that  of  me  can  die.  Yet,  that  debt  paid, 

Thou  wilt  not  leave  me  in  the  loathsome  grave, 

His  prey,  nor  suffer  my  unspotted  soul 
For  ever  with  corruption  there  to  dwell : 

But  I  shall  rise  victorious,  and  subdue 
My  vanquisher,  spoiled  of  his  vaunted  spoil ; 

Death  his  death’s  wound  shall  then  receive,  and  stoop 
Inglorious,  of  his  mortal  sting  disarmed. 

I,  through  the  ample  air,  in  triumph  high 
Shall  lead  Hell  captive,  maugre  Hell,  and  show 
The  powers  of  darkness  hound.  Thou,  at  the  sight 
Pleased,  out  of  Heaven  shalt  look  down  and  smile, 
While,  by  thee  raised,  I  ruin  all  my  foes, 

Death  last,  and  with  his  carcass  glut  the  grave  ; 

Then,  with  the  multitude  of  my  redeemed, 

Shall  enter  heaven,  long  absent,  and  return, 

Father,  to  see  thy  face,  wherein  no  cloud 
Of  anger  shall  remain,  but  peace  assured 


Book  III.-  2(54-  29  9] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


And  reconcilement ;  wrath  shall  be  no  more 
Thenceforth,  hut  in  thy  presence  joy  entire. 

His  words  here  ended,  but  His  meek  aspect 
Silent,  yet  spake,  and  breathed  immortal  love 
To  mortal  men,  above  which  only  shone 
Filial  obedience ;  as  a  sacrifice 
Glad  to  be  offered,  He  attends  the  will 
Of  his  great  Father.  Admiration  seized 
All  heaven,  what  this  might  mean,  and  whither  tend, 
Wondering ;  but  soon  the  Almighty  thus  replied : 

0  Thou  in  heaven  and  earth  the  only  peace 
Found  out  for  mankind  under  wrath!  0  Thou, 

My  soul  complacence  ! — well  thou  knowest  how  dear 
To  me  are  all  my  works,  nor  man  the  least, 

Though  last  created ;  that  for  him  I  spare 
Thee  from  my  bosom  and  right  hand,  to  save. 

By  losing  thee  awhile,  the  whole  race  lost. 

Thou,  therefore,  whom  thou  only  canst  redeem, 

Their  nature  also  to  thy  nature  join  : 

And  be  thyself  Man  among  men  on  earth, 

Made  flesh,  when  time  shall  be,  of  virgin  seed, 

By  wondrous  birth ;  be  thou  in  Adam’s  room 
The  head  of  all  mankind,  though  Adam’s  son. 

As  in  him  perish  all  men,  so  in  thee, 

As  from  a  second  root,  shall  be  restored 
As  many  as  are  restored,  without  thee  none. 

His  crime  makes  guilty  all  his  sons.  Thy  merit, 
Imputed,  shall  absolve  them  who  renounce 
Their  own  both  righteous  and  unrighteous  deeds, 

And  live  in  thee  transplanted,  and  from  thee 
Receive  new  life.  So  Man,  as  is  most  just, 

Shall  satisfy  for  man,  be  judged,  and  die, 

And  dying  rise,  and  rising  with  him,  raise 
His  brethren,  ransomed  with  his  own  dear  life. 

So  heavenly  love  shall  outdo  hellish  hate, 

Giving  to  death,  and  dying  to  redeem, 


(3(3  PARADISE  LOST. .  [BOOK  III.— 300-335 

So  dearly  to  redeem,  what  hellish  hate 

So  easily  destroyed,  and  still  destroys 

In  those  who,  when  they  may,  accept  not  grace. 

Nor  slialt  thou,  by  descending  to  assume 
Man’s  nature,  lessen  or  degrade  thine  own. 

Because  thou  hast,  though  throned  in  highest  bliss 
Equal  to  God,  and  equally  enjoying 
Godlike  fruition,  quitted  all,  to  save 
A  world  from  utter  loss,  and  hast  been  found 
By  merit  more  than  birthright,  Son  of  God, 

Found  worthiest  to  be  so,  by  being  good, 

Ear  more  than  great  or  high ;  because  in  thee 
Love  hath  abounded  more  than  glory  abounds, 

Therefore  thy  humiliation  shall  exalt 

With  thee  thy  manhood  also  to  this  throne ; 

Here  shalt  thou  sit  incarnate,  here  shalt  reign 
Both  God  and  man,  Son  both  of  God  and  man, 

Anointed  universal  king ;  all  power 
I  give  thee ;  reign  for  ever,  and  assume 
Thy  merits ;  under  thee,  as  head  supreme, 

Thrones,  Princedoms,  Powers,  Dominions,  I  reduce  : 

All  knees  to  thee  shall  how,  of  them  that  hide 
In  heaven,  or  earth,  or  under  earth  in  hell. 

When  thou,  attended  gloriously  from  heaven, 

Shalt  in  the  sky  appear,  and  from  thee  send 

The  summoning  Archangels  to  proclaim 

Thy  dread  tribunal ;  forthwith  from  all  winds 

The  living,  and  forthwith  the  cited  dead 

Of  all  past  ages,  to  the  general  doom 

Shall  hasten ;  such  a  peal  shall  rouse  their  sleep. 

Then,  all  thy  saints  assembled,  thou  shalt  judge 
Bad  men  and  Angels.  They  arraigned,  shall  sink 
Beneath  thy  sentence.  Hell,  her  numbers  full, 

Thenceforth  shall  he  for  ever  shut.  Meanwhile 

l 

The  world  shall  burn,  and  from  her  ashes  spring 
New  heaven  and  earth,  wherein  the  just  shall  dwell, 


10  Heaven  rung 

With  jubilee,  and  loud  hosannas  filled 
The  eternal  regions. 


Book  III,,  lines  347 — 349 


Book  III.— 330-371] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


0 


And,  after  all  their  tribulations  long, 

See  golden  days,  fruitfnl  of  golden  deeds, 

With  joy  and  love  triumphing,  and  fair  truth. 

Then  thou  thy  regal  sceptre  shalt  lay  by, 

For  regal  sceptre  then  no  more  shall  need ; 

God  shall  be  all  in  all.  But,  all  ye  gods, 

Adore  Him,  who  to  compass  all  this,  dies ; 

Adore  the  Son,  and  honour  Him  as  Me. 

No  sooner  had  the  Almighty  ceased,  hut  all 
The  multitude  of  angels,  with  a  shout, 

Loud  as  from  numbers  without  number,  sweet 

As  from  blessed  voices,  uttering  joy,  heaven  rung 

With  jubilee,  and  loud  hosannas  filled 

The  eternal  regions.  Lowly  reverent 

Towards  either  throne  they  bow,  and  to  the  ground, 

With  solemn  adoration,  down  they  cast 

Their  crowns,  inwove  with  amarant  and  gold ; — 

Immortal  amarant,  a  flower  which  once 

In  Paradise,  fast  by  the  tree  of  life, 

Began  to  bloom ;  hut  soon  for  man’s  offence 
To  heaven  removed,  where  first  it  grew,  there  grows, 
And  flowers  aloft,  shading  the  fount  of  life, 

But  where  the  Eiver  of  Bliss  through  midst  of  Heaven 
Bolls  o’er  Elysian  flowers  her  amber  stream ; 

With  these,  that  never  fade,  the  spirits  elect 
Bind  their  resplendent  locks,  inwreathed  with  beams. 

Now  in  loose  garlands  thick  thrown  off,  the  bright 
Pavement,  that  like  a  sea  of  jasper  shone, 

Impurpled  with  celestial  roses,  smiled. 

Then,  crowned  again,  their  golden  harps  the)^  took, 

Harps  ever  tuned,  that  glittering  by  their  side 
Like  quivers  hung,  and  with  preamble  sweet 
Of  charming  symphony  they  introduce 
Their  sacred  song,  and  waken  raptures  high : 

No  voice  exempt,  no  voice  but  well  could  join 
Melodious  part,  such  concord  is  in  heaven. 


68 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  III.- 372-407 


Thee,  Father,  first  they  sung,  Omnipotent, 
Immutable,  Immortal,  Infinite, 

Eternal  King  ;  thee,  Author  of  all  being, 

Fountain  of  light,  thyself  invisible 

Amidst  the  glorious  brightness,  where  thou  sittest 

Throned  inaccessible,  hut  when  thou  shadest 

The  full  blaze  of  thy  beams,  and,  through  a  cloud 

Drawn  round  about  thee,  like  a  radiant  shrine, 

Dark  with  excessive  bright  thy  skirts  appear, 

Yet  dazzle  heaven,  that  brightest  seraphim 
Approach  not,  but  with  both  wings  veil  their  eves. 
Thee,  next  they  sang,  of  all  creation  first, 

Begotton  Son,  Divine  Similitude, 

In  whose  conspicuous  countenance,  without  cloud 
Made  visible,  the  Almighty  Father  shines, 

Whom  else  no  creature  can  behold :  on  thee 
Impressed  the  effulgence  of  his  glory  abides, 
Transfused  on  thee  his  ample  Spirit  rests. 

He  heaven  of  heavens,  and  all  the  powers  therein. 
By  thee  created ;  and  by  thee  threw  down 
The  aspiring  dominations :  thou  that  day 
Thy  Father’s  dreadful  thunder  didst  not  spare, 

Nor  stop  thy  flaming  chariot- wheels,  that  shook 
Heaven’s  everlasting  frame,  while  o’er  the  necks 
Thou  drovest  of  warring  angels  disarrayed. 

Back  from  pursuit  thy  powers  with  loud  acclaim 
The  only  extolled,  Son  of  thy  Father’s  might, 

To  execute  fierce  vengeance  on  his  foes, 

Not  so  on  Man :  him,  through  their  malice  fallen. 
Father  of  mercy  and  grace,  thou  didst  not  doom 
So  strictly,  but  much  more  to  pity  incline, 

No  sooner  did  thy  dear  and  only  Son 
Perceive  thee  purposed  not  to  doom  frail  man 
So  strictly,  hut  much  more  to  pity  inclined, 

He,  to  appease  thy  wrath,  and  end  the  strife 
Of  mercy  and  justice  in  thy  face  discerned, 


Book  HI.-  408-441] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


69 


Regardless  of  the  bliss  wherein  he  sat 
Second  to  thee,  offered  himself  to  die 
For  man’s  offence.  Oh,  unexampled  love ! 

Love  nowhere  to  be  found  less  than  Divine ! 

Hail,  Son  of  God,  Saviour  of  men  !  Thy  name 
Shall  be  the  copious  matter  of  my  song 
Henceforth,  and  never  shall  my  heart  thy  praise 
Forget,  nor  from  thy  Father’s  praise  disjoin. 

Thus  they  in  heaven,  above  the  starry  sphere, 
Their  happy  hours  in  joy  and  hymning  spent. 
Meanwhile  upon  the  firm  opacous  globe 
Of  this  round  World,  whose  first  convex  divides 
The  luminous  inferior  orbs,  enclosed 
From  Chaos,  and  the  inroad  of  Darkness  old, 

Satan  alighted  walks.  A  globe  far  off 
It  seemed,  now  seems  a  boundless  continent, 

Dark,  waste,  and  wild,  under  the  frown  of  Night 
Starless,  exposed,  and  ever-threatening  storms 
Of  Chaos  blustering  round,  inclement  sky ; 

Save  on  that  side  which,  from  the  wall  of  heaven, 
Though  distant  far,  some  small  reflection  gains 
Of  glimmering  air  less  vexed  with  tempest  loud. 

Here  walked  the  Fiend  at  large  in  spacious  field. 

As  when  a  vulture  on  Imaus1  bred, 

Whose  snowy  ridge  the  roving  Tartar  bounds, 
Dislodging  from  a  region  scarce  of  prey, 

To  gorge  the  flesh  of  lambs  or  yearling  kids, 

On  hills  where  flocks  are  fed,  flies  toward  the  springs 
Of  Ganges  or  Hydaspes,  Indian  streams ; 

But  in  his  way  lights  on  the  barren  plains 

Of  Sericana,  where  Chineses  drive 

With  sails  and  wind  their  cany  wagons'  light : 

So,  on  this  windy  sea  of  land,  the  Fiend 
Walked  up  and  down  alone,  bent,  on  his  prey ; 


1  Imavs. — The  snow-cowned  Himalaya  mountains. 


a  Cany  wagons. — Light  vehicles,  constructed  of  bamboo. 


70 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  Hi.-  442-472 


Alone,  for  other  creature  in  this  place, 

Living  or  lifeless,  to  be  found  was  none ; 

None  yet,  but  store  hereafter  from  the  earth 
Up  hither,  like  aerial  vapours,  flew 
Of  all  things  transitory  and  vain,  when  sin 
With  vanity  had  filled  the  works  of  men ; 

Both  all  things  vain,  and  all  who  in  vain  things 
Built  their  fond  hopes  of  glory  or  lasting  fame, 

Or  happiness  in  this  or  the  other  life. 

All  who  have  their  reward  on  earth,  the  fruits 
Of  painful  superstition  and  blind  zeal, 

Nought  seeking  but  the  praise  of  men,  here  find 
Lit  retribution,  empty  as  their  deeds ; 

All  the  unaccomplished  works  of  Nature’s  hand, 
Abortive,  monstrous,  or  unkindly  mixed, 

Dissolved  on  earth,  flee  thither,  and  in  vain, 

Till  final  dissolution,  wander  here ; 

Not  in  the  neighbouring  moon,  as  some  have  dreamed; 
Those  argent  fields  more  likely  habitants, 

Translated  saints,  or  middle  spirits,  hold, 

Betwixt  the  angelical  and  human-kind.1 
Hither  of  ill-joined  sons  and  daughters  born 
First  from  the  ancient  world  those  giants  came, 

With  many  a  vain  exploit,  though  then  renowned; 

The  builders  next  of  Babel  on  the  plain 

Of  Sennaar,3  and  still  with  vain  design 

New  Babels,  had  they  wherewithal,  would  build: 

Others  came  single ;  he,  who  to  be  deemed 
A  god,  leaped  fondly  into  iEtna  flames, 

Empedocles  f  and  he  who,  to  enjoy 
Plato’s  Elysium,  leaped  into  the  sea, 


1  Betwixt  the  angelical  and  humankind. — See  Gen.  vi.  4. 

5  Sennaar. — Sbinar,  in  Babylonia. 

5  Empedocles. — A  scholar  of  Pythagoras,  who  cast  himself  into  Etna,  in  hope  that  his  mysterious  disappearance 
would  lead  to  his  being  worshipped  as  a  god.  But  Etna  threw  back  the  iron  pattens  he  wore,  and  the  end  was  ridi¬ 
cule,  not  worship,  (Horace,  De  Art ,  Poet.,  v.  464.) 


U  And  many  more  too  long, 

Embryos,  and  idiots,  eremites,  and  friars, 

Book  III.,  lines  478,  474. 


\ 

\ 

\ 

Book  III.— 473-505]  PARADISE  LOST.  71 

Cleombrotus f  and  many  more  too  long,2 
Embryos,  and  idiots,  eremites,  and  friars 
White,  black,  and  gray,  with  all  their  trumpery. 

Here  pilgrims  roam,  that  strayed  so  far  to  seek 
In  Golgotha  Him  dead  who  lives  in  Heaven ; 

And  they,  who,  to  be  sure  of  Paradise, 

Hying  put  on  the  weeds  of  Dominic, 

Or  in  Franciscan  think  to  pass  disguised; 

They  pass  the  planets  seven,  and  passed  the  fixed, 

And  that  crystalline  sphere  whose  balance  weighs 
The  trepidation  talked,  and  that  first  moved ; 

And  now  Saint  Peter  at  Heaven’s  wicket  seems 
To  wait  them  with  his  keys,  and  now  at  foot 
Of  Heaven’s  ascent  they  lift  their  feet,  when,  lo ! 

A  violent  cross-wind  from  either  coast 
Blows  them  transverse,  ten  thousand  leagues  awry 
Into  the  devious  air ;  then  might  ye  see 
Cowls,  hoods,  and  habits,  with  their  wearers,  tossed 
And  fluttered  into  rags ;  then  relics,  beads, 

Indulgences,  dispenses,  pardons,  bulls, 

The  sport  of  winds :  all  these,  upwhirled  aloft, 

Fly  o’er  the  backside  of  the  world  far  off, 

Into  a  Limbo  large  and  broad,  since  called 
The  Paradise  of  Fools,  to  few  unknown 
Long  after,  now  unpeopled,  and  untrod. 

All  this  dark  globe  the  Fiend  found  as  he  passed. 

And  long  he  wandered,  till  at  last  a  gleam 
Of  dawning  light  turned  thitherward  in  haste 
His  travelled  steps.  Far  distant  he  decries, 

Ascending  by  degrees  magnificent 

Up  to  the  wall  of  heaven,  a  structure  high  ; 

At  top  whereof,  but  far  more  rich,  appeared 
The  work  as  of  a  kingly  palace-gate, 


1  Cleombrotus. — A  Greek  youth,  so  enamoured  with  Plato’s  doctrine  of  immortality,  that  he  drowned  himself  in 
hope  of  realising  it. 

a  Many  more  too  long. — Too  long  to  tell.  Some  suppose  a  line  to  be  wanting  here. 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  III.— 506-541 


*> 


With  frontispiece  of  diamond  and  gold 
Embellished ;  thick  with  sparkling  orient  gems 
The  portal  shone,  inimitable  on  earth 
By  model,  or  hy  shading  pencil  drawn. 

The  stairs  were  such  as  whereon  Jacob  saw 
Angels  ascending  and  descending,  hands 
Of  guardians  bright,  when  he  from  Esau  lied 
To  Padan-Aram,  in  the  field  of  Luz, 

Dreaming  by  night  under  the  open  sky, 

And  waking  cried,  “  This  is  the  gate  of  Heaven.” 
Each  stair  mysteriously  was  meant,  nor  stood 
There  always,  hut  drawn  up  to  Heaven  sometimes 
Viewless ;  and  underneath  a  bright  sea  flowed 
Of  jasper,  or  of  liquid  pearl,  whereon 
Who  after  came  from  earth,  sailing  arrived, 

Wafted  hy  Angels,  or  flew  o’er  the  lake 
Wrapped  in  a  chariot  drawn  hy  fiery  steeds. 

The  stairs  were  then  let  down,  whether  to  dare 
The  Fiend  by  easy  ascent,  or  aggravate 
His  sad  exclusion  from  the  doors  of  bliss : 

Direct  against  which  opened  from  beneath, 

Just  o’er  the  blissful  seat  of  Paradise, 

A  passage  down  to  the  earth,  a  passage  wide, 

Wider  hy  far  than  that  of  after-times 

Over  Mount  Sion,  and,  though  that  were  large, 

Over  the  Promised  Land,  to  God  so  dear ; 

By  which,  to  visit  oft  those  happy  tribes, 

On  high  behests  his  angels  to  and  fro 
Pass  frequent,  and  his  eye  with  choice  regard 
From  Paneas,  the  fount  of  Jordan’s  flood, 

To  Beersaba,  where  the  Holy  Land 
Borders  on  Egypt  and  the  Arabian  shore ; 

So  wide  the  opening  seemed,  where  bounds  were  set 
To  darkness,  such  as  bound  the  ocean  wave. 

Satan  from  hence,  now  on  the  lower  stair, 

That  scaled  by  steps  of  gold  to  Heaven-gate, 


Book  III.— 542-574] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


7-f 


Looks  down  with  wonder  at  the  sudden  view 
Of  all  this  world  at  once.  As  when  a  scout, 
Through  dark  and  desert  ways  with  peril  gone 
All  night,  at  last  by  break  of  cheerful  dawn 
Obtains  the  brow  of  some  high-climbing  hill, 

Which  to  his  eye  discovers  unaware 
The  goodly  prospect  of  some  foreign  land 
First  seen,  or  some  renowned  metropolis, 

With  glistering  spires  and  pinnacles  adorned, 

Which  now  the  rising  sun  gilds  with  his  beams ; 
Such  wonder  seized,  though  after  heaven  seen, 

The  spirit  malign,  but  much  more  envy  seized, 

At  sight  of  all  this  world  beheld  so  fair. 

Round  he  surveys— and  well  might,  where  he  stood 
So  high  above  the  circling  canopy 
Of  night’s  extended  shade — from  eastern  point 
Of  Libra  to  the  fleecy  star  that  bears 
Andromeda1  far  off  Atlantic  seas, 

Beyond  the  horizon  ;  then  from  pole  to  pole 
He  views  in  breadth,  and  without  longer  pause 
Down  right  into  the  world’s  first  region  throws 
His  flight  precipitant,  and  winds  with  ease 
Through  the  pure  marble  air  his  oblique  way 
Amongst  innumerable  stars,  that  shone 
Stars  distant,  but  nigh  hand  seemed  other  worlds; 
Or  other  worlds  they  seemed,  or  happy  isles, 

Like  those  Hesperian  gardens  famed  of  old, 

Forunate  fields,  and  groves,  and  flowery  vales, 
Thrice-happy  isles ;  but  who  dwelt  happy  there 
He  stayed  not  to  inquire.  Above  them  all 
The  golden  sun,  in  splendour  likest  heaven, 

Allured  his  eye ;  thither  his  course  he  bends 
Through  the  calm  firmament, — but  up  or  down, 


Andromeda.—  One  of  the  six  signs  of  the  zodiac,  which  are  supposed  for  the  first  time  to  hold  out  their  lamp 
celestial  to  the  graze  of  the  fiend. 

1  The  pvre  marble  air.—  Marble  is  a  word  from  the  Greek  [iapuaipa,  and  signifies  to  shine  or  glisten.  The  word  is 
used  by  Milton,  not  as  denoting  hardness,  hut  brightness  and  clearness. 


74 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  III.— 575-607 


By  centre  or  eccentric,  hard  to  tell, 

Or  longitude, — where  the  great  luminary 
Aloof  the  vulgar  constellations  thick, 

That  from  his  lordly  eye  keep  distance  due, 

Dispenses  light  from  far :  they,  as  they  move 

Their  starry  dance  in  numbers  that  compute 

Days,  months,  and  years,  towards  his  all-cheering  lamp 

Turn  swift  their  various  motions,  or  are  turned 

By  his  magnetic  beam,  that  gently  warms 

The  universe,  and  to  each  inward  part 

With  gentle  penetration,  though  unseen, 

Shoots  invisible  virtue  even  to  the  deep ; 

So  wondrously  was  set  his  station  bright. 

There  lands  the  Fiend,  a  spot  like  which  perhaps 
Astronomer  in  the  sun’s  lucent  orb 
Through  his  glazed  optic  tube  yet  never  saw. 

The  place  he  found  beyond  expression  bright, 

Compared  with  aught  on  earth,  metal  or  stone  ; 

Not  all  parts  like,  hut  all  alike  informed 
With  radiant  light,  as  glowing  iron  with  fire ; 

If  metal,  part  seemed  gold,  part  silver  clear : 

If  stone,  carbuncle  most  or  chrysolite, 
lluby  or  topaz,  or  the  twelve  that  shone 
In  Aaron’s  breastplate,  and  a  stone  besides 
Imagined  rather  oft  than  elsewhere  seen, 

That  stone,  or  like  to  that,  which  here  below 
Philosophers  in  vain  so  long  have  sought, 

In  vain,  though  by  their  powerful  art  they  bind 
Volatile  Hermes,1  and  call  up  unbound 
In  various  shapes  old  Proteus2  from  the  sea, 

Drained  through  a  limbec  to  his  native  form. 

What  wonder  then  if  fields  and  regions  here 
Breathe  forth  elixir  pure,  and  rivers  run 


1  Volatile  Hermes. — i.e.,  can  make  mercury  or  quicksilver  do  their  will. 

2  Old  Proteus. — A  person  who  baffles  his  pursuers  by  assuming  all  shapes,  but  who  is  said  to  have  been  fixed  in 
his  true  shape  at  last.  So  chemistr}'  passes  through  changing  phenomena  to  fixedness  and  certainty. 


Book  III. -608-641] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


75 


Potable  gold,  when  with  one  virtuous  touch 
The  arch-chymic  sun,  so  far  from  us  remote, 
Produces,  with  terrestial  humour  mixed, 

Here  in  the  dark  so  many  precious  things 
Of  colour  glorious,  and  effect  so  rare  ? 

Here  matter  new  to  gaze  the  Devil  met 
Undazzled.  Far  and  wide  his  eye  commands; 

For  sight  no  obstacle  found  here,  nor  shade, 

But  all  sunshine,  as  when  his  beams  at  noon 
Culminate  from  the  equator,  as  they  now 
Shot  upward  still  direct,  whence  no  way  round 
Shadow  from  body  opaque  can  fall ;  and  the  air, 
Nowhere  so  clear,  sharpened  his  visual  ray 
To  objects  distant  far,  whereby  he  soon 
Saw  within  ken  a  glorious  Angel  stand, 

The  same  whom  John  saw  also  in  the  sun. 

His  back  was  turned,  but  not  his  brightness  hid ; 

Of  beaming  sunny  rays  a  golden  tiar 
Circled  his  head,  nor  less  his  locks  behind 
Illustrious  on  his  shoulders,  fledge  with  wings, 

Lay  waving  round.  On  some  great  charge  employed 
He  seemed,  or  fixed  in  cogitation  deep. 

Glad  was  the  spirit  impure,  as  now  in  hope 
To  find  who  might  direct  his  wandering  flight 
To  Paradise,  the  happy  seat  of  Man, 

His  journey’s  end,  and  our  beginning  woe. 

But  first  he  casts1  to  change  his  proper  shape, 

Which  else  might  work  him  danger  or  delay. 

And  now  a  stripling  cherub  he  appears, 

Not  of  the  prime,  yet  such  as  in  his  face 
Youth  smiled  celestial,  and  to  every  limb 
Suitable  grace  diffused,  so  well  he  feigned. 

Under  a  coronet  his  flowing  hair 

In  curls  on  either  cheek  played  ;  wings  he  wore, 


1  He  cants. — Considers — forecasts. 


76 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  J1I. — 642-075 


Of  many  a  coloured  plume,  sprinkled  with  gold ; 

His  habit  fit  for  speed  succinct,  and  held 
Before  his  decent  steps  a  silver  wand. 

He  drew  not  nigh  unheard ;  the  angel  bright 
Ere  he  drew  nigh,  his  radiant  visage  turned, 

Admonished  by  his  ear,  and  straight  was  known 

The  Archangel  Uriel,  one  of  the  seven 

Who  in  God’s  presence,  nearest  to  his  throne, 

Stand  ready  at  command,  and  are  his  eyes 

That  run  through  all  the  Heavens,  or  down  to  the  Earth 

Bear  his  swift  errands  over  moist  and  dry, 

O’er  sea  and  land :  him  Satan  thus  accosts  : 

Uriel,  for  thou  of  those  seven  spirits  that  stand 
In  sight  of  God’s  high  throne,  gloriously  bright, 

The  first  art  wont  his  great  authentic  will 
Interpreter  through  highest  heaven  to  bring, 

Where  all  his  sons  thy  embassy  attend ; 

And  here  art  likeliest  by  supreme  decree 
Like  liouour  to  obtain,  and  as  his  eye1 
To  visit  oft  this  new  creation  round ; 

Unspeakable  desire  to  see,  and  know 

All  these  his  wondrous  works,  but  chiefly  Man, 

His  chief  delight  and  favour,  him  for  whom 
All  these  his  works  so  wondrous  he  ordained, 

Hath  brought  me  from  the  quires  of  cherubim 
Alone  thus  wandering.  Brightest  seraph,  tell 
In  which  of  these  shining  orbs  hath  Man 
His  fixed  seat,  or  fixed  seat  hath  none, 

But  all  these  shining  orbs  his  choice  to  dwell ; 

That  I  may  find  him,  and  with  secret  gaze, 

Or  open  admiration,  him  behold, 

On  whom  the  great  Creator  hath  bestowed 
Worlds,  and  on  whom  hath  all  these  graces  poured  ', 

That  both  in  him  and  all  things,  as  is  meet, 


1  As  his  eye. — As  being  bis  eye. 


Book  III., -676-711] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


77 


The  universal  Maker  we  may  praise, 

Who  justly  hath  driven  out  his  rebel  foes 
To  deepest  Hell,  and,  to  repair  that  loss, 

Created  this  new  happy  race  of  men 
To  serve  him  better :  wise  are  all  his  ways. 

So  spake  the  false  dissembler  unperceived ; 

For  neither  man  nor  angel  can  discern 
Hypocrisy,  the  only  evil  that  walks 
Invisible,  except  to  God  alone, 

By  his  permissive  will,  through  heaven  and  earth. 
And  oft,  though  wisdom  wake,  suspicion  sleeps 
At  wisdom’s  gate,  and  to  simplicity 
Resigns  her  charge,  while  goodness  thinks  no  ill 
Where  no  ill  seems :  wThich  now  for  once  beguiled 
Uriel,  though  regent  of  the  sun,  and  held 
The  sharpest-sighted  spirit  of  all  in  Heaven ; 

Who  to  the  fraudulent  impostor  foul, 

In  his  uprightness,  answer  thus  returned : 

Fair  angel,  thy  desire,  which  tends  to  know 
The  works  of  God,  thereby  to  glorify 
The  great  Work-Master,  leads  to  no  excess 
That  reaches  blame,  but  rather  merits  praise 
The  more  it  seems  excess,  that  led  thee  hither 
From  thy  empyreal  mansion  thus  alone, 

To  witness  with  thine  eyes  what  some  perhaps, 
Contented  with  report,  hear  only  in  heaven : 

For  wonderful  indeed  are  all  His  works, 

Pleasant  to  know,  and  worthiest  to  be  all 
Had  in  remembrance  always  with  delight : 

But  what  created  mind  can  comprehend 

Their  number,  or  the  wisdom  infinite 

That  brought  them  forth,  but  hid  their  causes  deep, 

I  saw,  when  at  His  word  the  formless  mass, 

This  world’s  material  mould,  came  to  a  heap  : 
Confusion  heard  His  voice  and  wild  uproar 
Stood  ruled,  stood  vast  infinitude  confined ; 


78 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  III.— 712-742 


Till  at  liis  second  bidding  darkness  fled, 

Light  shone,  and  order  from  disorder  sprung. 

Swift  to  their  several  quarters  hasted  then 
The  cumbrous  elements,  earth,  flood,  air,  fire ; 

And  this  ethereal  quintessence  of  heaven 
Flew  upward,  spirited  with  various  forms, 

That  rolled  orbicular  and  turned  to  stars 
Numberless,  as  thou  seest,  and  how  they  move. 

Each  had  his  place  appointed,  each  his  course ; 

The  rest  in  circuit  walls  this  universe. 

Look  downward  on  that  globe,  whose  hither  side 
With  light  from  hence,  though  but  reflected,  shines , 

That  place  is  Earth,  the  seat  of  Man ;  that  light 
His  day,  which  else,  as  the  other  hemisphere, 

Night  would  invade ;  but  there  the  neighbouring  moon— 
So  call  that  opposite  fair  star — her  aid 
Timely  interposes,  and  her  monthly  round 
Still  ending,  still  renewing,  through  mid  heaven, 

With  borrowed  light  her  countenance  triform 
Hence  fills  and  empties  to  enlighten  the  earth, 

And  in  her  pale  dominion  checks  the  night. 

That  spot  to  which  I  point  is  Paradise, 

Adam’s  abode  ;  those  lofty  shades,  his  bower. 

Thy  way  thou  canst  not  miss,  me  mine  requires. 

Thus  said,  he  turned;  and  Satan,  bowing  low, 

As  to  superior  spirits  is  wont  in  heaven, 

Where  honour  due  and  reverence  none  neglects, 

Took  leave,  and  towards  the  coast  of  Earth  beneath, 
Down  from  the  ecliptic,  sped  with  hoped  success, 

Throws  his  steep  flight  in  many  an  aery  wheel, 

Nor  stayed,  till  on  Niphates’  top  he  lights.1 


1  On  Niphates'  top  he  lights. — A  mountain  in  Armenia,  near  which  Milton  places  Paradise. 


« 


Towards  the  coast  of  Earth  beneath, 
Down  from  the  ecliptic,  sped  with  hoped  success 
Throws  his  steep  flight  iu  many  an  aery  wheel. 


BOOK  IV. 


Satan,  now  in  prospect  of  Eden,  and  nigh  the  place  where  he  must  now  attempt  the  bold  enterprise  which  he 
undertook  alone  against  God  and  man,  falls  into  many  doubts  with  himself,  and  many  passions,  fear,  envy, 
and  despair;  but  at  length  confirms  himself  in  evil,  journeys  on  to  Paradise,  whose  outward  prospect  and 
situation  is  described;  overleaps  the  bounds;  sits  in  the  shape  of  a  cormorant  on  the  tree  of  life,  as  the  high¬ 
est  in  the  garden,  to  look  about  him.  The  garden  described;  Satan's  first  sight  of  Adam  and  Eve;  his  won¬ 
der  at  their  excellent  form  and  happy  state,  but  with  resolution  to  work  their  fall;  overhears  their  discourse, 
thence  gathers  that  the  tree  of  knowledge  was  forbidden  them  to  eat  of,  under  penalty  of  death;  and  thereon 
intends  to  found  his  temptation,  by  seducing  them  to  transgress;  then  leaves  them  awhile  to  know  farther  of 
their  state  by  some  other  means.  Meanwhile,  Uriel,  descending  on  a  sunbeam,  warns  Gabriel,  who  had  in 
charge  the  gate  of  Paradise,  that  some  evil  spirit  had  escaped  the  deep,  and  passed  at  noon  by  his  sphere,  in 
the  shape  of  a  good  angel,  down  to  Paradise,  discovered  after  by  his  furious  gestures  in  the  mount.  Ga¬ 
briel  promises  to  find  him  ere  morniug.  Night  coming  on,  Adam  and  Eve  discourse  of  going  to  their  rest: 
their  bower  described;  their  evening  worship.  Gabriel,  drawing  forth  his  bands  of  night-watch  to  walk  the 
rounds  of  Paradise,  appoints  two  strong  angels  to  Adam’s  bower,  lest  the  evil  spirit  should  be  there  doing 
some  harm  to  Adam  or  Eve  sleeping;  there  they  find  him  at  the  ear  of  Eve,  tempting  her  in  a  dream,  and 
bring  him,  though  unwilling,  to  Gabriel;  by  whom  questioned,  he  scornfully  answers;  prepares  resistance; 
but,  hindered  by  a  sign  from  heaven,  flies  out  of  Paradise. 

^T^H,  for  that  warning  voice,  which  he,  who  saw 
The  Apocalypse,  heard  cry  in  heaven  aloud, 

Then  when  the  Dragon,  put  to  second  rout, 

Came  furious  down  to  he  revenged  on  men, 

“Woe  to  the  inhabitants  on  earth!”  that  now, 

While  time  was,  our  first  parents  had  been  warned 
The  coming  of  their  secret  foe,  and  ’scaped, 

Haply  so  ’scaped  his  mortal  snare.  For  now 
Satan,  now  first  inflamed  with  rage,  came  down, 

The  tempter  ere  the  accuser1  of  mankind, 

To  wreak  on  innocent  frail  man  his  loss 
Of  that  first  battle,  and  his  flight  to  Hell. 

Yet  not  rejoicing  in  his  speed,  though  hold 
Far  off  and  fearless,  nor  with  cause  to  boast, 

Begins  his  dire  attempt ;  which,  nigh  the  birth 
Now  rolling,  boils  in  his  tumultuous  breast, 

And  like  a  devilish  engine  hack  recoils 

Upon  himself.  Horror  and  doubt  distract 

His  troubled  thoughts,  and  from  the  bottom  stir 


1  Accuser. — Aiafiokoc — hence  devil. 


80 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IV.- 20-55 


The  hell  within  him ;  for  within  him  hell 
He  brings,  and  round  about  him,  nor  from  hell 
One  step,  no  more  than  from  himself,  can  fly 
By  change  of  place.  Now  conscience  wakes  despair 
That  slumbered ;  wakes  the  bitter  memory 
Of  what  he  was,  what  is,  and  what  must  he — 

Worse ;  of  worse  deeds  worse  sufferings  must  ensue. 
Sometimes  towards  Eden,  which  now  in  his  view 
Lay  pleasant,  his  grieved  look  he  fixes  sad ; 
Sometimes  towards  heaven  and  the  full-blazing  sun, 
Which  now  sat  high  in  his  meridian  tower ; 

Then,  much  revolving,  thus  in  sighs  began : 

0  thou,  that,  with  surpassing  glory  crowned, 
Look’st  from  thy  sole  dominion,  like  the  God 
Of  this  new  world ;  at  whose  sight  all  the  stars 
Hide  their  diminished  heads  ;  to  thee  I  call, 

But  with  no  friendly  voice,  and  add  thy  name, 

0  sun !  to  tell  thee  how  I  hate  thy  beams, 

That  bring  to  my  remembrance  from  what  state 
I  fell,  how  glorious  once  above  thy  sphere ; 

Till  pride  and  worse  ambition  threw  me  down, 
Warring  in  heaven  against  heaven’s  matchless  King : 
Ah,  wherefore?  He  deserved  no  such  return 
From  me,  whom  he  created  what  I  was 
In  that  bright  eminence,  and  with  his  good 
Upbraided  none ;  nor  was  his  service  hard. 

What  could  he  less  than  to  afford  Him  praise, 

The  easiest  recompense,  and  pay  Him  thanks? 

How  due !  Yet  all  his  good  proved  ill  in  me, 

And  wrought  but  malice.  Lifted  up  so  high 
I  ’sdained  subjection,  and  thought  one  step  higher 
Would  set  me  highest,  and  in  a  moment  quit 
The  debt  immense  of  endless  gratitude, 

So  burdensome  ;  still  paying,  still  to  owe  ; 

Forgetful  what  from  Him  I  still  received, 

And  understood  not  that  a  grateful  mind 


13  Me  miserable  !  which  way  shall  I  fly 

Infinite  wrath,  and  infinite  despair  ? 

Book  IV.,  lines  73,  74. 


Book  IV.— 56-91] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


81 


By  owing  owes  not,  but  still  pays,  at  once 
Indebted  and  discharged ;  what  burden  then  ? 

Oil,  had  his  powerful  destiny  ordained 
Me  some  inferior  Angel,  I  had  stood 
Then  happy;  no  unbounded  hope  had  raised 
Ambition.  Yet  why  not?  some  other  Power 
As  great  might  have  aspired,  and  me,  though  mean, 
Drawn  to  his  part.  But  other  powers  as  great 
Fell  not,  but  stand  unshaken,  from  within 
Or  from  without,  to  all  temptations  armed. 

Hadst  thou  the  same  free  will  and  power  to  stand? 
Thou  hadst :  whom  hast  thou  then  or  what  to  accuse, 
But  Heaven’s  free  love  dealt  equally  to  all? 

Be  then  his  love  accursed,  since  love  or  hate 
To  me  alike  it  deals  eternal  woe. 

Nay,  cursed  be  thou ;  since  against  His  thy  will 
Chose  freely  what  it  now  so  justly  rues. 

Me  miserable !  which  way  shall  I  fly 
Infinite  wrath,  and  infinite  despair? 

Which  way  I  fly  is  Hell ;  myself  am  Hell ; 

And,  in  the  lowest  deep,  a  lower  deep 
Still  threatening  to  devour  me  opens  wide, 

To  which  the  hell  I  suffer  seems  a  heaven. 

Oh,  then,  at  last  relent.  Is  there  no  place 
Left  for  repentance,  none  for  pardon  left? 

None  left  but  by  submission  ;  and  that  word 
Disdain  forbids  me,  and  my  dread  of  shame 
Among  the  spirits  beneath,  whom  I  seduced 
With  other  promises  and  other  vaunts 
Than  to  submit,  boasting  I  could  subdue 
The  Omnipotent.  Ah  me !  they  little  know 
How  dearly  I  abide  that  boast  so  vain, 

Under  what  torments  inwardly  I  groan. 

While  they  adore  me  on  the  throne  of  hell 
With  diadem  and  sceptre  high  advanced, 

The  lower  still  I  fall,  only  supreme 


82 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IV— 92-127 


In  misery :  such  joy  ambition  finds. 

But  say  I  could  repent,  and  could  obtain, 

By  act  of  grace,  my  former  state ;  how  soon 
Would  height  recall  high  thoughts,  how  soon  unsay 
What  feiomed  submission  swore !  Ease  would  recant 
Vows  made  in  pain,  as  violent  and  void: 

For  never  can  true  reconcilement  grow 

Where  wounds  of  deadly  hate  have  pierced  so  deep 

Which  would  hut  lead  me  to  a  worse  relapse, 

And  heavier  fall :  so  should  I  purchase  dear 
Short  intermission,  bought  with  double  smart. 

This  knows  my  Punisher;  therefore  as  far 
From  granting  He,  as  I  from  begging,  peace : 

All  hope  excluded  thus,  behold,  instead 
Of  us,  outcast,  exiled,  his  new  delight, 

Mankind,  created,  and  for  him  this  world. 

So  farewell  hope  ;  and  with  hope  farewell  fear  ; 

Farewell  remorse  :  all  good  to  me  is  lost. 

Evil,  be  thou  my  good :  by  thee  at  least 
Divided  empire  with  heaven’s  king  I  hold, 

By  thee,  and  more  than  half  perhaps  will  reign, 

As  man  ere  long,  and  this  new  world  shall  know. 

Thus  while  he  spake,  each  passion  dimmed  his  face. 
Thrice  changed  with  pale,  ire,  envy,  and  despair  ; 

Which  marred  his  borrowed  visage,  and  betrayed 
Him  counterfeit,  if  any  eye  beheld ; 

For  heavenly  minds  from  such  distempers  foul 
Are  ever  clear.  Whereof  he  soon  aware, 

Each  perturbation  smoothed  with  outward  calm, 

Artificer  of  fraud ;  and  was  the  first 
That  practised  falsehood  under  saintly  show, 

Deep  malice  to  conceal,  couched  with  revenge. 

Yet  not  enough  had  practised  to  deceive 
Uriel,  once  warned ;  whose  eye  pursued  him  down 
The  way  he  went,  and  on  the  Assyrian  mount 
Saw’  him  disfigured,  more  than  could  befall 


Book  IV.— 128-163] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


83 


Spirit  of  happy  sort :  his  gestures  fierce 
He  marked,  and  mad  demeanour,  then  alone 
As  he  supposed,  all  unobserved,  unseen. 

So  on  he  fares,  and  to  the  border  comes 
Of  Eden,  where  delicious  Paradise, 

Now  nearer,  crowns  with  her  enclosure  green, 

As  with  a  rural  mound,  the  champaign  head 
Of  a  steep  wilderness,  whose  hairy  sides 
"With  thicket  overgrown,  grotesque  and  wild, 

Access  denied ;  and  overhead  up  grew 
Insuperable  height  of  loftiest  shade, 

Cedar,  and  pine,  and  fir,  and  branching  palm, 

A  sylvan  scene  ;  and,  as  the  ranks  ascend 
Shade  above  shade,  a  woody  theatre 
Of  stateliest  view.  Yet  higher  than  their  tops 
The  verdurous  wall  of  Paradise  up-sprung ; 

Which  to  our  general  sire  gave  prospect  large 
Into  his  nether  empire  neighboring  round. 

And  higher  than  that  wall  a  circling  row 
Of  goodliest  trees,  loaden  with  fairest  fruit, 

Blossoms  and  fruits  at  once,  of  golden  hue, 

Appeared,  with  gay  enamelled  colours  mixed ; 

On  which  the  sun  more  glad  impressed  his  beams, 
Than  in  fair  evening  cloud,  or  humid  bow, 

When  God  hath  showered  the  earth :  so  lovely  seemed 
That  landscape  ;  and  of  pure  now  purer  air 
Meets  his  approach,  and  to  the  heart  inspires 
Vernal  delight  and  joy,  able  to  drive 
All  sadness  but  despair.  Now  gentle  gales. 

Panning  their  odoriferous  wings,  dispense 
Native  perfumes,  and  whisper  whence  they  stole 
Those  balmy  spoils.  As  when  to  them  who  sail 
Beyond  the  Cape  of  Hope,  and  now  are  past 
Mozambic,  off  at  sea  north-east  winds  blow 
Sabean  odours  from  the  spicy  shore 
Of  Araby  the  Blest ;  with  such  delay 


84 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IV.— 164-196 


Well  pleased  they  slack  their  course,  and  many  a  league 
* 

Cheered  with  the  grateful  smell,  old  Ocean  smiles. 

So  entertained  those  odorous  sweets  the  Fiend, 

Who  came  their  bane  d  though  with  them  better  pleased 
Than  Asmodeus  with  the  fishy  fume 
*  That  drove  him,  though  enamoured,  from  the  spouse 
Of  Tobit’s  son,1 2 3  and  with  a  vengeance  sent 
From  Media  post  to  Egypt,  there  fast  hound. 

Now  to  the  ascent  of  that  steep  savage  hill 
Satan  hath  journeyed  on,  pensive  and  slow ; 

But  further  way  found  none,  so  thick  entwined, 

As  one  continued  brake,  the  undergrowth 
Of  shrubs  and  tangling  bushes  had  perplexed 
All  path  of  man  or  beast  that  passed  that  way. 

One  gate  there  only  was,  and  that  looked  east 
On  the  other  side,  which  when  the  arch-felon  saw, 

Due  entrance  he  disdained,  and,  in  contempt, 

At  one  slight  hound  high  overleaped  all  hound 
Of  hill  or  highest  wall,  and  sheer  within 
Lights  on  his  feet.  As  when  a  prowling  wolf, 

Whom  hunger  drives  to  seek  new  haunt  for  prey, 

Watching  where  shepherds  pen  their  flocks  at  eve 
In  hurdled  cotes  amid  the  field  secure, 

Leaps  o’er  the  fence  with  ease  into  the  fold  : 

Or  as  a  thief  bent  to  unhoard  the  cash 
Of  some  rich  burgher,  whose  substantial  doors, 

Cross-barred  and  bolted  fast,  fear  no  assault, 

In  at  the  window  climbs,  or  o’er  the  tiles : 

So  clomb  this  first  grand  thief  into  God’s  fold  ; 

So  since  into  his  church  lewd  hirelings  climb. 

Thence  up  he  flew,  and  on  the  tree  of  life, 

The  middle  tree  and  highest  there  that  grew, 

Sat  like  a  cormorant ;  yet  not  true  life 

1  Who  came  their  lane. — These  odours  floating  from  the  spice  islands,  far  upon  the  evening  or  morning  breeze, 
were  known  to  the  ancients,  and  are  better  known  to  the  moderns. 

2  Of  Tohit's  son. — Objection  is  justlv  taken  to  this  use  of  the  Apocrypha  legend.  It  degrades,  in  place  of  adorn¬ 

ing,  the  subject. 


Now  to  the  ascent  of  that  steep  savage  hill 
Satan  hath  journey’d  on,  pensive  and  slow. 

Booh  IV.,  lines  172,  173. 


14 


Book  IV.— 197-232] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


85 


Thereby  regained,  but  sat  devising  death 

To  them  who  lived ;  nor  on  the  virtue  thought 

Of  that  life-giving  plant,  but  only  used 

For  prospect,  what,  well  used,  had  been  the  pledge 

Of  immortality.  So  little  knows 

Any,  but  God  alone,  to  value  right 

The  good  before  him,  but  perverts  best  things 

To  worst  abuse,  or  to  their  meanest  use. 

Beneath  him  with  new  wonder  now  he  views, 

To  all  delight  of  human  sense  exposed, 

In  narrow  room,  nature’s  whole  wealth,  yea  more, 

A  heaven  on  earth  :  for  blissful  Paradise 
Of  God  the  garden  was,  by  him  in  the  east 
Of  Eden  planted.  Eden  stretched  her  line 
From  Auran  eastward  to  the  royal  towers 
Of  great  Seleucia,  built  by  Grecian  kings ; 

Or  where  the  sons  of  Eden  long  before 
Dwelt  in  Telassar.  In  this  pleasant  soil 
His  far  more  pleasant  garden  God  ordained. 

Out  of  the  fertile  ground  he  caused  to  grow 
All  trees  of  noblest  kind  for  sight,  smell,  taste ; 

And  all  amid  them  stood  the  tree  of  life, 

High  eminent,  blooming  ambrosial  fruit 
Of  vegetable  gold ;  and  next  to  life, 

Our  death,  the  Tree  of  Knowledge,  grew  fast  by, 
Knowledge  of  good,  bought  dear  by  knowing  ill. 
Southward  through  Eden  went  a  river  large, 

Nor  changed  his  course,  but  through  the  shaggy  hill 
Passed  underneath  ingulfed ;  for  God  had  thrown 
That  mountain  as  his  garden  mould,  high  raised 
Upon  the  rapid  current,  which  through  veins 
Of  porous  earth  with  kindly  thirst  up-drawn, 

Rose  a  fresh  fountain,  and  with  many  a  rill 
Watered  the  garden ;  thence  united  fell 
Down  the  steep  glade,  and  met  the  nether  flood, 
Which  from  his  darksome  passage  now  appears ; 


86 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IV.— 233-266 


And  now,  divided  into  four  main  streams, 

Runs  diverse,  wandering  many  a  famous  realm 
And  country,  whereof  here  needs  no  account ; 

But  rather  to  tell  how,  if  art  could  tell, 

How  from  that  sapphire  fount  the  crisped  brooks, 
Rolling  on  orient  pearl  and  sands  of  gold, 

With  mazy  error  under  pendent  shades 
Ran  nectar,  visiting  each  plant,  and  fed 
Flowers  worthy  of  Paradise,  which  not  nice  art 
In  beds  and  curious  knots,  hut  nature  boon 
Poured  forth  profuse  on  hill,  and  dale,  and  plain. 

Both  where  the  morning  sun  first  warmly  smote 
The  open  field,  and  where  the  unpierced  shade 
Imbrowned  the  noontide  bowers.  Thus  was  this  place 
A  happy  rural  seat  of  various  view ; 

Groves  whose  rich  trees  wept  odorous  gums  and  balm ; 
Others  whose  fruit,  burnished  with  golden  rind, 

Hung  amiable,1  Hesperian  fables  true, 

If  true,  here  only,  and  of  delicious  taste. 

Betwixt  them  lawns,  or  level  downs,  and  flocks 
Grazing  the  tender  herb,  were  interposed; 

Or  palmy  hillock,  or  the  flowery  lap 
Of  some  irriguous  valley  spread  her  store, 

Flowers  of  ail  hue,  and  without  thorn  the  rose. 

Another  side,  umbrageous  grots  and  caves 
Of  cool  recess,  o’er  which  the  mantling  vine 
Lays  forth  her  purple  grape,  and  gently  creeps 
Luxuriant.  Meanwhile  murmuring  waters  fall 
Down  the  slope  hills,  dispersed,  or  in  a  lake, 

That  to  the  fringed  bank  with  myrtle  crowned 
Her  crystal  mirror  holds,  unite  their  streams. 

The  birds  their  quire  apply ;  airs,  vernal  airs, 

Breathing  the  smell  of  field  and  grove,  attune 
The  trembling  leaves,  while  universal  Pan,2 


1  Amiable. — Lovely,  so  as  to  call  forth  affection,  desire. 

’  Universal  Pan. — riuv,  all.  The  symbol  with  the  ancients  of  all  nature — the  universe. 


A  happy  rural  seat  of  various  view. 

Book  IV.,  line  247. 


15 


Book  IV.— 267-297] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


87 


Knit  with  the  Graces  and  the  Hours'  in  dance, 

Led  on  the  Eternal  Spring.  Not  that  fair  field 

% 

Of  Enna,  where  Proserpine9  gathering  flowers, 

Herself  a  fairer  flower,  by  gloomy  Dis8 

Was  gathered,  which  cost  Ceres  all  that  pain 

To  seek  her  through  the  world ;  nor  that  sweet  grove 

Of  Daphne  by  Orontes,  and  the  inspired 

Castilian  spring,  might  with  the  Paradise 

Of  Eden  strive ;  nor  that  Nyseian  isle4 

Girt  with  the  river  Triton,  where  old  Cham, 

Whom  Gentiles  Ammon  call  and  Lybian  Jove, 

Hid  Amalthea,  and  her  florid  son, 

Young  Bacchus  from  his  stepdame  Rhea’s  eye : 

Nor  where  Abassin  kings5  their  issue  guard, 

Mount  Amara,6  though  this  by  some  supposed 
True  Paradise,  under  the  Ethiop  fine 
By  Nilus’s  head,  enclosed  with  shining  rock, 

A  whole  day’s  journey  high,  hut  wide  remote 
From  this  Assyrian  garden,  where  the  Fiend 
Saw,  undelighted,  all  delight,  all  kind 
Of  living  creatures,  new  to  sight  and  strange. 

Two  of  far  nobler  shape,  erect  and  tall, 

Godlike  erect,  with  native  honour  clad, 

In  naked  majesty  seemed  lords  of  all, 

And  worthy  seemed  :  for  in  their  looks  divine 
The  image  of  their  glorious  Maker  shone, 

Truth,  wisdom,  sanctitude  severe  and  pure, 

Severe,  hut  in  true  filial  freedom  placed, 

Whence  true  authority  in  men  :  though  both 
Not  equal,  as  their  sex  not  equal  seemed; 

For  contemplation  he,  and  valour  formed  ; 

1  The  Graces  and  the  Hours.—  Female  divinities,  accepted  as  emblems  of  the  beauty,  joy,  and  harmony  of  U, 
seasons,  especially  of  the  spring. 

3  Proserpine  has  the  accent  here  on  the  second  syllable,  as  in  the  Latin. 

3  Gloomy  Dis. — Pluto. 

*  Nyseian  isle.—  Enna,  the  grave  of  Daphne,  and  the  Nyseian  isle,  were  all  places  celebrated  for  their  beauty  by 
the  Creek  and  Roman  poets. 

6  Abassin  Icings. — Abyssinian. 

8  Mount  Amara. — A  mountain  seclusion,  to  which  some  of  the  later  emperors  sent  their  younger  sons  for  education. 


88 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IV.— 298-333 


For  softness  she,  and  sweet  attractive  grace ; 

He  for  God  only,  she  for  God  in  him. 

His  fair  large  front  and  eye  sublime  declared 
Absolute  rule ;  and  hyacinthine  locks 
Round  from  his  parted  forelock  manly  hung 
Clustering,  but  not  beneath  his  shoulders  broad. 
She,  as  a  veil,  down  to  the  slender  waist 
Her  unadorned  golden  tresses  wore 
Dishevelled,  hut  in  wanton  ringlets  waved, 

As  the  vine  curls  her  tendrils,  which  implied 
Subjection,  hut  required  with  gentle  sway, 

And  by  her  yielded,  by  him  best  received, 
Yielded  with  coy  submission,  modest  pride, 

And  sweet,  reluctant,  amorous  delay. 

Nor  those  mysterious  parts  were  then  concealed, 
Then  was  not  guilty  shame.  Dishonest  shame 
Of  nature’s  works,  honour  dishonourable, 

Sin-hred,  how  have  ye  troubled  all  mankind 
With  shows  instead,  mere  shows  of  seeming  pure, 
And  banished  from  man’s  life  his  happiest  life, 
Simplicity  and  spotless  innocence ! 

So  passed  they  naked  on,  nor  shunned  the  sight 
Of  God  or  angel  ;  for  they  thought  no  ill : 

So  hand  in  hand  they  passed,  the  loveliest  pair 
That  ever  since  in  love’s  embraces  met ; 

Adam  the  goodliest  Man  of  Men  since  born 
His  sons,  the  fairest  of  her  daughters  Eve. 

Under  a  tuft  of  shade  that  on  a  green 
Stood  whispering  soft,  by  a  fresh  fountain*  side 
They  sat  them  down ;  and,  after  no  more  toil 
Of  their  sweet  gardening  labour  than  sufficed 
To  recommend  cool  zephyr,  and  made  ease 
More  easy,  wholesome  thirst  and  appetite 
More  grateful,  to  their  supper-fruits  they  fell, 
Nectarine  fruits,  which  the  compliant  houghs 
Yielded  them,  sidelong  as  they  sat  reclined 


iS 


am  a 

Ml 

m  wsef/S 

m 

|;1 

ivmm 

M 

:  j; 

P'J! 

m 

The  savoury  pulp  they  chew,  and  in  the  rind, 

Still  as  they  thirsted,  scoop  the  brimming  stream. 

Boole  IV.,  lines  335,  336. 


Book  IV  -334-369] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


89 


On  the  soft  downy  bank  damasked  with  flowers  ; 

The  savoury  pulp  they  chew,  and  in  the  rind. 

Still  as  they  thirsted,  scoop  the  brimming  stream ; 

Nor  gentle  purpose,  nor  endearing  smiles. 

Wanted,  nor  youthful  dalliance,  as  beseems 
Fair  couple,  linked  in  happy  nuptial  league, 

Alone  as  they.  About  them  frisking  played 

All  beasts  of  the  earth,  since  wild,  and  of  all  chase 

In  wood  or  wilderness,  forest  or  den  ; 

Sporting  the  lion  ramped,  and  in  his  paw 
Dandled  the  kid ;  bears,  tigers,  ounces,  pards, 

Gambolled  before  them ;  the  unwicldly  elephant, 

To  make  them  mirth,  used  all  his  might,  and  wreathed 
His  lithe  proboscis ;  close  the  serpent  sly, 

Insinuating,  wove  with  Gordian  twine 
His  braided  train,  and  of  his  fatal  guile 
Gave  proof  unheeded ;  others  on  the  grass 
Couched,  and,  now  filled  with  pasture,  gazing  sat, 

Or  bedward  ruminating ;  for  the  sun, 

Declined,  w7as  hasting  now  with  prone  career 
To  the  ocean  isles,  and  in  the  ascending  scale 
Of  heaven  the  stars  that  usher  evening  rose ; 

When  Satan,  still  in  gaze,  as  first  he  stood, 

Scarce  thus  at  length  failed  speech  recovered  sad  : — 

0  Hell!  what  do  mine  eyes  with  grief  behold? 

Into  our  room  of  bliss  thus  high  advanced 
Creatures  of  other  mould,  earth-horn  perhaps, 

Not  spirits,  yet  to  heavenly  spirits  bright 

Little  inferior ;  whom  my  thoughts  pursue 

With  wonder,  and  could  love,  so  lively  shines 

In  them  Divine  resemblance,  and  such  grace 

The  hand  that  formed  them  on  their  shape  hath  poured. 

Ah!  gentle  pair,  ye  little  think  how  nigh 

Your  change  approaches,  when  all  these  delights 

Will  vanish,  and  deliver  ye  to  woe  ; 

More  woe,  the  more  your  taste  is  now  of  joy ; 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IV.— 370-405 


yo 


Happy,  but  for  so  happy  ill  secured 

Long  to  continue,  and  this  high  seat,  your  heaven 

Ill  fenced  for  heaven  to  keep  out  such  a  foe 

As  now  is  entered ;  yet  no  purposed  foe 

To  you,  whom  I  could  pity  thus  forlorn, 

Though  I  unpitied.  League  with  you  I  seek, 

And  mutual  amity,  so  straight,  so  close, 

That  I  with  you  must  dwell,  or  you  with  me 
Henceforth.  My  dwelling  haply  may  not  please, 
Like  this  fair  Paradise,  your  sense :  yet  such 
Accept,  your  Maker’s  work.  He  gave  it  me, 

Which  I  as  freely  give :  hell  shall  unfold, 

To  entertain  you  two,  her  widest  gates, 

And  send  forth  all  her  kings ;  there  will  be  room, 
Not  like  these  narrow  limits,  to  receive 
Your  numerous  offspring ;  if  no  better  place, 

Thank  him  wdio  puts  me  loth  to  this  revenge 
On  you  who  wrong  me  not,  for  him  who  wronged. 
And  should  I  at  your  harmless  innocence 
Melt,  as  I  do,  yet  public  reason  just, 

Honour  and  empire,  with  revenge  enlarged 
By  conquering  this  new  world,  compels  me  now 
To  do  what  else,  though  damned,  I  should  abhor. 

So  spake  the  Fiend,  and  with  necessity, 

The  tyrant’s  plea,  excused  his  devilish  deeds. 

Then  from  his  lofty  stand  on  that  high  tree 
Down  he  alights  among  the  sportful  herd 
Of  those  four-footed  kinds,  himself  now  one, 

Now  other,  as  their  shape  served  best  his  end, 
Nearer  to  view  his  prey,  and  unespied, 

To  mark  what  of  their  state  he  more  might  learn 
By  word  or  action  marked.  About  them  round 
A  lion  now  he  stalks  with  fiery  glare ; 

Then  as  a  tiger,  who  by  chance  hath  spied 
In  some  purlieu  two  gentle  fawns  at  play, 

Straight  crouches  close,  then  rising,  changes  oft 


Book  I V.— 406-441] 


i'ARADISE  LOST. 


91 


His  couchant  watch,  as  one  who  chose  his  ground, 
Whence  rushing  he  might  surest  seize  them  both, 
Griped  in  each  paw  ;  when  Adam,  first  of  men, 

To  first  of  women,  Eve,  thus  moving  speech, 

Turned  him,  all  ear  to  hear  new  utterance  flow  : 

Sole  partner,  and  sole  part  of  all  these  joys, 

Dearer  thyself  than  all ;  needs  must  the  Power 
That  made  us,  and  for  us  this  ample  world, 

Be  infinitely  good,  and  of  his  good 
As  liberal,  and  free  as  infinite ; 

That  raised  us  from  the  dust,  and  placed  us  here 
In  all  this  happiness ;  who  at  his  hand 
Have  nothing  merited,  nor  can  perform 
Aught  whereof  he  hath  need ;  he  who  requires 
From  us  no  other  service  than  to  keep 
This  one,  this  easy  charge  : — of  all  the  trees 
In  Paradise  that  bear  delicious  fruit 
So  various,  not  to  taste  that  only  Tree 
Of  Knowledge,  planted  by  the  tree  of  Life ; 

So  near  grows  death  to  life,  whate’er  death  is, 

Some  dreadful  thing  no  doubt ;  for  well  thou  know'st 
God  hath  pronounced  it  death  to  taste  that  tree, 

The  only  sign  of  our  obedience  left 

Among  so  many  signs  of  power  and  rule 

Conferred  upon  us,  and  dominion  given 

Over  all  other  creatures  that  possess 

Earth,  air,  and  sea.  Then  let  us  not  think  hard 

One  easy  prohibition,  who  enjoy 

Free  leave  so  large  to  all  things  else,  and  choice 

Unlimited  of  manifold  delights ; 

But  let  us  ever  praise  Him,  and  extol 
His  bounty ;  following  our  delightful  task, 

To  prune  these  growing  plants,  and  tend  these  flowers. 
Which  were  it  toilsome,  yet  with  thee  wTere  sweet. 

To  whom  thus  Eve  replied  :  0  thou,  for  whom, 
And  from  w'hom,  I  was  formed,  flesh  of  thy  flesh, 


92 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IV.— 442-471 


And  without  whom  am  to  no  end,  my  guide 
And  head  !  what  thou  hast  said  is  just  and  right. 
For  we  to  Him  indeed  all  praises  owe, 

And  daily  thanks ;  I  chiefly,  who  enjoy 
So  far  the  happier  lot,  enjoying  thee 
Pre-eminent  by  so  much  odds,  while  thou 
Like  consort  to  thyself  canst  nowhere  find. 

That  day  I  oft  remember,  when  from  sleep 
I  first  awaked,  and  found  myself  reposed, 

Under  a  shade,  on  flowers,  much  wondering  where 
And  wdiat  I  was,  whence  thither  brought,  and  how. 
Not  distant  far  from  thence  a  murmuring  sound 
Of  waters  issued  from  a  cave,  and  spread 
Into  a  liquid  plain,  then  stood  unmoved, 

Pure  as  the  expanse  of  heaven.  I  thither  went, 
With  unexperienced  thought,  and  laid  me  down 
On  the  green  bank,  to  look  into  the  clear 
Smooth  lake,  that  to  me  seemed  another  sky. 

As  I  bent  down  to  look,  just  opposite 
A  shape  within  the  watery  gleam  appeared, 

Bending  to  look  on  me :  I  started  back, 

It  started  back ;  but  pleased  I  soon  returned, 

Pleased  it  returned  as  soon  with  answering  looks 
Of  sympathy  and  love.  There  I  had  fixed 
Mine  eyes  till  now,  and  pined  with  vain  desire, 

Had  not  a  voice  thus  warned  me :  What  thou  seest, 
What  there  thou  seest,  fair  creature,  is  thyself ; 

With  thee  it  came  and  goes.  But  follow  me, 

And  I  will  bring  thee  where  no  shadow  stays 
Thy  coming,  and  thy  soft  embraces ;  he 
Whose  image  thou  art,  him  thou  shalt  enjoy 
Inseparably  thine,  to  him  shalt  bear 
Multitudes  like  thyself,  and  thence  be  called 
Mother  of  human  race.  What  could  I  do, 

But  follow  straight,  invisibly  thus  led? 

Till  I  espied  thee,  fair  indeed,  and  tall, 


Book  IV.- 478-513] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


93 


Under  a  plantane,  yet  methought  less  fair, 

Less  winning  soft,  less  amiably  mild, 

Than  that  smooth  watery  image.  Back  I  turned. 

Thou,  following,  criedst  aloud,  Return,  fair  Eve  ; 

Whom  flyest  thou?  whom  thou  flyest,  of  him  thou  art, 
His  flesh,  his  hone ;  to  give  thee  being  I  lent 
Out  of  my  side  to  thee,  nearest  my  heart, 

Substantial  life,  to  have  thee  by  my  side 
Henceforth  an  individual  solace  dear ; 

Part  of  my  soul,  I  seek  thee,  and  thee  claim, 

My  other  half.  With  that  thy  gentle  hand 
Seized  mine ;  I  yielded ;  and  from  that  time  see 
How  beauty  is  excelled  by  manly  grace, 

And  wisdom,  which  alone  is  truly  fair. 

So  spake  our  general  mother;  and  with  eyes 
Of  conjugal  attraction  unreproved, 

And  meek  surrender,  half-embracing  leaned 
On  our  first  father  ;  half  her  swelling  breast 
Naked  met  his,  under  the  flowing  gold 
Of  her  loose  tresses  hid :  he  in  delight 
Both  of  her  beauty  and  submissive  charms, 

Smiled  with  superior  love,  as  Jupiter 

On  Juno  smiles,  wdien  he  impregns  the  clouds 

That  shed  May  flowers ;  and  pressed  her  matron  lip 

With  kisses  pure.  Aside  the  Devil  turned 

For  envy;  yet  with  jealous  leer  malign 

Eyed  them  askance,  and  to  himself  thus  plained : 

Sight  hateful,  sight  tormenting !  thus  these  two 
Imparadised  in  one  another’s  arms, 

The  happier  Eden,  shall  enjoy  their  fill 
Of  bliss  on  bliss ;  while  I  to  Hell  am  thrust 
Where  neither  joy  nor  love,  but  fierce  desire. 

Among  our  other  torments  not  the  least, 

Still  unfulfilled,  with  pain  of  longing  pines. 

Yet  let  me  not  forget  what  I  have  gained 

From  their  own  mouths.  All  is  not  theirs,  it  seems 


94 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IV.— 514-549 


One  fatal  tree  there  stands,  of  Knowledge  called, 
Forbidden  them  to  taste.  Knowledge  forbidden ! 

Suspicious,  reasonless.  Why  should  their  Lord 
Envy  them  that?  Can  it  he  sin  to  know? 

Can  it  be  death?  And  dc  they  only  stand 
By  ignorance?  Is  that  their  happy  state, 

The  proof  of  their  obedience  and  their  faith? 

0  fair  foundation  laid  whereon  to  build 
Their  ruin  !  Hence  I  will  excite  their  minds 
With  more  desire  to  know,  and  to  reject 
Envious  commands,  invented  with  design 
To  keep  them  low,  whom  knowledge  might  exalt 
Equal  with  gods.  Aspiring  to  he  such, 

They  taste  and  die;  what  likelier  can  ensue? 

But  first  with  narrow  search  I  must  walk  round 
This  garden,  and  no  corner  leave  unspied. 

A  chance  hut  chance  may  lead  where  I  may  meet 
Some  wandering  spirit  of  heaven  by  fountain  side, 

Or  in  thick  shade  retired,  from  him  to  draw 
What  further  would  he  learned.  Live  while  ye  may, 

Yet  happy  pair ;  enjoy,  till  I  return, 

Short  pleasures ;  for  long  wrnes  are  to  succeed. 

So  saying,  his  proud  step  he  scornful  turned, 

But  with  sly  circumspection,  and  began 

Through  wood,  through  waste,  o’er  hill,  o’er  dale,  his  roam. 

Meanwhile,  in  utmost  longitude,  where  heaven 

With  earth  and  ocean  meets,  the  setting  sun 

Slowly  descended,  and  with  right  aspect 

Against  the  eastern  gate  of  Paradise 

Levelled  his  evening  rays.  It  was  a  rock 

Of  alabaster,  piled  up  to  the  clouds, 

Conspicuous  far,  winding  with  one  ascent 
Accessible  from  earth,  one  entrance  high ; 

The  rest  was  craggy  cliff,  that  overhung 
Still  as  it  rose,  impossible  to  climb. 

Betwixt  these  rocky  pillars  Gabriel  sat, 


Book  IV.- 550-585] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


9 


Chief  of  the  angelic  guards,  awaiting  night. 

About  him  exercised  heroic  games 

The  unarmed  youth  of  Heaven,  but  nigh  at  hand 

Celestial  armoury,  shields,  helms,  and  spears, 

Hung  high,  with  diamond  flaming,  and  with  gold. 
Thither  came  Uriel,  gliding  through  the  even 
On  a  sunbeam,  swift  as  a  shooting  star 
In  autumn,  ’thwart  the  night,  when  vapours  fired 
Impress  the  air,  and  show  the  mariner 
From  what  point  of  his  compass  to  beware 
Impetuous  winds :  he  thus  began  in  haste: 

Gabriel,  to  thee  thy  course  by  lot  hath  given 
Charge  and  strict  watch,  that  to  this  happy  place 
No  evil  thing  approach  or  enter  in. 

This  day  at  height  of  noon  came  to  my  sphere 
A  spirit  zealous,  as  he  seemed,  to  know 
More  of  the  Almighty’s  works,  and  chiefly  man, 
God’s  latest  image.  I  described  his  way 
Bent  all  on  speed,  and  marked  his  aery  gait ; 

But  in  the  mount  that  lies  from  Eden  north, 
Where  he  first  lighted,  soon  discerned  his  looks 
Alien  from  Heaven,  wilh  passions  foul  obscured. 
Mine  eye  pursued  him  still,  but  under  shade 
Lost  sight  of  him.  One  of  the  banished  crew, 

I  fear,  hath  ventured  from  the  deep  to  raise 
New  troubles;  him  thy  care  must  be  to  find. 

To  whom  the  winged  warrior  thus  returned : 
Uriel,  no  wonder  if  thy  perfect  sight, 

Amid  the  sun’s  bright  circle  where  thou  sitt’st, 

See  far  and  wide.  In  at  this  gate  none  pass 
The  vigilance  here  placed,  but  such  as  come 
Well  known  from  Heaven,  and  since  meridian  hour 
No  creature  thence.  If  spirit  of  other  sort, 

So  minded,  hath  o’erleaped  these  earthly  bounds 
On  purpose,  hard  thou  knowest  it  to  exclude 
Spiritual  substance  with  corporeal  bar. 


96 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IV.- 586-618 


But  if  within  the  circuit  of  these  walks, 

In  whatsoever  shape  he  lurk,  of  whom 

Thou  tellest,  by  morrow  dawning  I  shall  know. 

So  promised  he ;  and  Uriel  to  his  charge 
Beturned  on  that  bright  beam,  whose  point  now  raised 
Bore  him  slope  downward  to  the  sun,  now  fallen 
Beneath  the  Azores ;*  whither  the  bright  orb, 

Incredible  how  swift,  had  thither  rolled 
Diurnal,  or  this  less  voluble  earth, 

By  shorter  flight  to  the  east,  had  left  him  there 

Arraying  with  reflected  purple  and  gold 

The  clouds  that  on  his  western  throne  attend.2 

Now  came  still  evening  on,  and  twilight  grey 
Had  in  her  sober  livery  all  things  clad ; 

Silence  accompanied ;  for  beast  and  bird, 

They  to  their  grassy  couch,  these  to  their  nests 
Were  slunk,  all  but  the  wakeful  nightingale, 

She  all  night  long  her  amorous  descant  sung  ; 

Silence  was  pleased.  Now  glowed  the  firmament 
With  living  sapphires  :  Hesperus,  that  led 
The  starry  host,  rode  brightest ;  till  the  moon, 

Bising  in  clouded  majesty,  at  length, 

Apparent  queen,  unveiled  her  peerless  light, 

And  o’er  the  dark  her  silver  mantle  threw. 

When  Adam  thus  to  Eve  :  Fair  consort,  the  hour 
Of  night,  and  all  things  now  retired  to  rest, 

Mind  us  of  like  repose  ;  since  God  hath  set 
Labour  and  rest,  as  day  and  night,  to  men 
Successive  ;  and  the  timely  dew  of  sleep, 

Now  falling  with  soft  slumbrous  weight,  inclines 
Our  eye-lids.  Other  creatures  all  day  long 
Bove  idle,  unemployed,  and  less  need  rest, 

Man  hath  his  daily  work  of  body  or  mind 

1  Azores. — Islands  in  the  Western  Ocean,  which  are  sometimes  confounded  with  the  Canaries.  They  were  due 
west  from  the  seat  of  Paradise. 

'‘His  western  throne  attend. — It  is  observable  that  Milton  will  not  here  say  whether  the  Ptolemaic  or  the  Coper- 
nican  system  is  the  true  one. 


17 


So  promised  lie; 
Returned. 


and  Uriel  to  liis  charge 

Bool  IV. lines  589,  590. 


Book  IV.— 619-652] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


97 


Appointed,  which  declares  his  dignity, 

And  the  regard  of  Heaven  on  all  his  ways  ; 

While  other  animals  unactive  raime. 

And  of  their  doings  God  takes  no  account. 
To-morrow,  ere  fresh  morning  streaks  the  east 
With  first  approach  of  light,  we  must  he  risen, 

And  at  our  pleasant  labour,  to  reform 
Yon  flowery  arbours,  yonder  alleys  green, 

Our  walk  at  noon,  with  branches  overgrown, 

That  mock  our  scant  manuring,1  and  require 
More  hands  than  ours  to  lop  their  wanton  growth ; 
Those  blossoms  also,  and  those  dropping  gums, 

That  lie  bestrewn,  unsightly  and  unsmooth, 

Ask  riddance,  if  we  mean  to  tread  with  ease  ; 
Meanwhile,  as  Nature  wills,  night  bids  us  rest. 

To  whom  thus  Eve,  with  perfect  beauty  ’domed : 
My  author  and  disposer,  what  thou  bidd’st 
Unargued  I  obey ;  so  God  ordains  : 

God  is  thy  law,  thou  mine :  to  know  no  more 
Is  woman’s  happiest  knowledge,  and  her  praise. 

With  thee  conversing,  I  forgot  all  time  ; 

All  seasons,  and  their  change,  all  please  alike. 

Sweet  is  the  breath  of  morn,  her  rising  sweet, 

With  charm  of  earliest  birds ;  pleasant  the  sun, 

When  first  on  this  delightful  land  he  spreads 
His  orient  beams,  on  herb,  tree,  fruit,  and  flower, 
Glistering  with  dew  ;  fragrant  the  fertile  earth 
After  soft  showers  ;  and  sweet  the  coming  on 
Of  grateful  evening  mild  ;  then  silent  night, 

With  this  her  solemn  bird,  and  this  fair  moon, 

And  these  the  gems  of  heaven,  her  starry  train  : 

But  neither  breath  of  morn,  when  she  ascends 
With  charm  of  earliest  birds  ;  nor  rising  sun 
On  this  delightful  land ;  nor  herb,  fruit,  flower, 


1  Our  manuring. — Our  culture.  “The  manuring  hand  of  the  tiller  shall  root  out  all  that  burdens  the  soil.1  — 
Treason  of  Church  Government. 


98 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IV.— (35h-G8? 


Glistering  with  dew ;  nor  fragrance  after  showers, 

Nor  grateful  evening  mild;  nor  silent  night, 

With  this  her  solemn  bird ;  nor  walk  by  moon, 

Or  glittering  starlight,  without  thee  is  sweet. 

But  wherefore  all  night  long  shine  these?  for  whom 
This  glorious  sight,  when  sleep  hath  shut  all  eyes? 

To  whom  our  general  ancestor  replied : 

Daughter  of  God  and  man,  accomplished  Eve, 

These  have  their  course  to  finish  round  the  earth 
By  morrow  evening,  and  from  land  to  land 
In  order,  though  to  nations  yet  unborn, 

Ministering  light  prepared,  they  set  and  rise, 

Lest  total  darkness  should  by  night  regain 
Her  old  possession,  and  extinguish  life 
In  Nature  and  all  things  ;  which  these  soft  fires 
Not  only  enlighten,  but,  with  kindly  heat 
Of  various  influence,  foment  and  warm, 

Temper  or  nourish,  or  in  part  shed  down 
Their  stellar  virtue  on  all  kinds  that  grow 
On  Earth,  made  hereby  apter  to  receive 
Perfection  from  the  sun’s  more  potent  ray. 

These  then,  though  unbelield  in  deep  of  night, 

Shine  not  in  vain.  Nor  think,  though  men  were  none. 
That  heaven  would  want  spectators,  God  want  praise. 
Millions  of  spiritual  creatures  walk  the  Earth 
Unseen,  both  when  we  wake,  and  when  we  sleep. 

All  these  with  ceaseless  praise  His  works  behold 
Both  day  and  night.  How  often  from  the  steep 
Of  echoing  hill  or  thicket  have  we  heard 
Celestial  voices  to  the  midnight  air, 

Sole,  or  responsive  each  to  other’s  note, 

Sin  ging  their  great  Creator !  Oft  in  bands 
While  they  keep  watch,  or  nightly  rounding  walk, 

With  heavenly  touch  of  instrumental  sounds 
In  full  harmonic  number  joined,  their  songs 
Divide  the  night,  and  lift  our  thoughts  to  heaven. 


Book  IV.— 689-719] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


99 


Thus  talking,  hand  in  hand  they  passed 
On  to  their  blissful  bower.  It  was  a  place 
Chosen  by  the  sovereign  Planter,  when  he  framed 
All  things  to  man’s  delightful  use.  The  roof 
Of  thickest  covert  was  inwoven  shade, 

Laurel,  and  myrtle,  and  what  higher  grew 
Of  firm  and  fragrant  leaf ;  on  either  side 
Acanthus,  and  each  odorous  bushy  shrub, 

Fenced  up  the  verdant  wall ;  each  beauteous  flower, 

Iris  all  hues,  roses,  and  jessamine, 

Feared  high  their  flourished  heads  between,  and  wrought 
Mosaic ;  under  foot  the  violet, 

Crocus,  and  hyacinth,  with  rich  inlay 

Broidered  the  ground,  more  coloured  than  with  stone 

Of  costliest  emblem :  other  creature  here, 

Beast,  bird,  insect,  or  worm,  durst  enter  none, 

Such  was  their  awe  of  man.  In  shadier  bower 
More  sacred  and  sequestered,  though  hut  feigned, 

Pan  or  Sylvanus1  never  slept,  nor  Nymph 
Nor  Faunus3  haunted.  Here,  in  close  recess, 

With  flowers,  garlands,  and  sweet-smelling  herbs. 

Espoused  Eve  decked  first  her  nuptial  bed  ; 

And  heavenly  quires  the  hymenean  sung, 

What  day  the  genial  Angel  to  our  sire 
Brought  her,  in  naked  beauty  more  adorned. 

More  lovely  than  Pandora,3  whom  the  gods 
Endowed  with  all  their  gifts ;  and,  0 !  too  like 
In  sad  event,  when  to  the  unwiser  son 
Of  Japhet  brought  by  Hermes,  she  ensnared 
Mankind  with  her  fair  looks,  to  he  avenged 
On  him  who  had  stole  J ove’s  authentic  fire. 


1  Sylvanus. — A  divinity  of  fields  and  forests. 

3  Nymph  nor  Faunus. — Rural  divinities,  male  and  female. 

*  More  lovely  than  Pandora. — The  story  concerning  Pandora  is,  that  Prometheus,  the  son  of  Japhet,  stole  fire  froL_ 
heaven  and  gave  it  to  the  earth.  Jupiter,  to  punish  the  theft,  sent  Pandora  to  him,  endow  d  by  the  gods  with  a-., 
charms,  as  her  name  imports.  She  was  brought  to  him  by  Hermes.  Prometheus  was  not  to  be  taken  by  the  snare  , 
but  his  younger  brother  was,  and.  being  curious  to  know  the  contents  of  a  casket  in  Pandora  s  possession,  caused  it 
to  be  opened,  from  which  all  kinds  of  evil  came  forth. 


100 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IV.- 720-754 


Thus,  at  their  shady  lodge  arrived,  both  stood, 
Both  turned,  and  under  open  sky  adored 
The  God  that  made  both  sky,  air,  earth,  and  heaven, 
Which  they  beheld,  the  moon’s  resplendent  globe, 

And  starry  pole.  Thou  also  mad’st  the  night, 

Maker  Omnipotent,  and  thou  the  day, 

Which  we,  in  our  appointed  work  employed, 

Have  finished,  happy  in  our  mutual  help 
And  mutual  love,  the  crown  of  all  our  bliss 
Ordained  by  thee ;  and  this  delicious  place 
For  us  too  large,  where  thy  abundance  wants 
Partakers,  and  uncropt  falls  to  the  ground. 

But  thou  hast  promised  from  us  two  a  race 
To  fill  the  earth,  who  shall  with  us  extol 
Thy  goodness  infinite,  both  when  we  wake, 

And  when  we  seek,  as  now,  thy  gifted  sleep. 

This  said  unanimous,1  and  other  rites 
Observing  none,  hut  adoration  pure 
Which  God  likes  best,  into  their  inmost  bower 
Handed  they  went ;  and,  eased  the  putting  off 
These  troublesome  disguises  which  we  wear, 

Straight  side  by  side  were  laid  ;  nor  turned,  I  ween. 
Adam  from  his  fair  spouse,  nor  Eve  the  rites 
Mysterious  of  connubial  love  refused : 

Whatever  hypocrites  austerely  talk 
Of  purity,  and  place,  and  innocence. 

Defaming  as  impure  what  God  declares 

Pure,  and  commands  to  some,  leaves  free  to  all. 

Our  Maker  bids  increase  ;  who  bids  abstain 
But  our  destroyer,  foe  to  God  and  man? 

Hail,  wedded  love,  mysterious  law,  true  source 
Of  human  offspring,  sole  propriety 
In  Paradise,  in  all  things  common  else  ! 

By  thee  adulterous  lust  was  driven  from  men 
Among  the  bestial  herds  to  range  ;  by  thee, 


Unanimous.- — By  both — with  one  heart. 


Book  IV.—' 755-790] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


101 


Founded  in  reason,  loyal,  just,  and  pure, 

Relations  dear,  and  all  the  charities 
Of  father,  son,  and  brother,  first  were  known. 

Far  he  it,  that  I  should  write  thee  sin  or  blame, 

Or  think  thee  unbefitting  holiest  place ; 

Perpetual  fountain  of  domestic  sweets, 

Whose  bed  is  undefiled,  and  chaste  pronounced, 

Present,  or  past,  as  saints  and  patriarchs  used. 

Here  Love  his  golden  shafts  employs,  here  lights 
His  constant  lamp,  and  waves  his  purple  wings, 

Reigns  here  and  revels  ;  not  in  the  bought  smile 
Of  harlots,  loveless,  joyless,  unendeared, 

Casual  fruition,  nor*  in  court  amours, 

Mixed  dance,  or  wanton  mask,  or  midnight  hall, 

Or  serenate,  which  the  starved  lover  sings 
To  his  proud  fair,  best  quitted  with  disdain. 

These,  lulled  by  nightingales,  embracing  slept, 

And  on  their  naked  limbs  the  flowery  roof 
Showered  roses,  which  the  morn  repaired.  Sleep  on, 
Blest  pair ;  and,  0  !  yet  happiest,  if  ye  seek 
No  happier  state,  and  know  to  know  no  more. 

Now  had  night  measured  with  her  shadowy  cone 
Half  way  up  hill  this  vast  sublunar  vault, 

And  from  their  ivory  port  the  cherubim, 

Forth  issuing  at  the  accustomed  hour,  stood  armed 
To  their  night  watches  in  warlike  parade, 

When  Gabriel  to  his  next  in  power  thus  spake  : 

Uzziel,  half  these  draw  off,  and  coast  the  south 
With  strictest  watch ;  these  other  wheel  the  north ; 

Our  circuit  meets  full  west.  As  flame  they  part, 

Half  wheeling  to  the  shield,  half  to  the  spear. 

From  these,  two  strong  and  subtle  sp’rits  he  called 
That  near  him  stood,  and  gave  them  thus  in  charge : 

Ithuriel  and  Zephon,  with  winged  speed 
Search  through  this  garden,  leave  unsearched  no  nook ; 
But  chiefly  where  those  two  fair  creatures  lodge, 


* 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IV.— 791-820 


102 

Now  laid  perhaps  asleep,  secure  of  harm. 

This  evening  from  the  sun’s  decline  arrived 
Who  tells  of  some  infernal  spirit  seen 
Hitherward  bent — who  could  have  thought? — escaped 
The  bars  of  Hell,  on  errand  bad  no  doubt : 

Such,  where  ye  find,  seize  fast,  and  hither  bring. 

So  saying,  on  he  led  his  radiant  files, 

Dazzling  the  moon ;  these  to  the  bower  direct 
In  search  of  whom  they  sought.  Him  there  they  found, 
Squat  like  a  toad  close  at  the  ear  of  Eve, 

Assaying  by  his  devilish  art  to  reach 

The  organs  of  her  fancy,  and  with  them  to  forge 

Illusions,  as  he  list,  phantasms  and  dreams. 

Or  if,  inspiring  venom,  he  might  taint 

The  animal  spirits,  that  from  pure  blood  arise 

Like  gentle  breaths  from  rivers  pure,  thence  raise, 

At  least,  distempered,  discontented  thoughts, 

Vain  hopes,  vain  aims,  inordinate  desires, 

Blown  up  with  high  conceits  engendering  pride. 

Him  thus  intent  Ithuriel  with  his  spear 
Touched  lightly ; — for  no  falsehood  can  endure 
Touch  of  celestial  temper,  hut  returns 
Of  force  to  its  own  likeness.  Up  he  starts, 

Discovered  and  surprised.  As  when  a  spark 

Lights  on  a  heap  of  nitrous  powder,  laid 
Fit  for  the  tun,  some  magazine  to  store 
Against  a  rumoured  war,  the  smutty  grain, 

With  sudden  blaze  diffused,  inflames  the  air ; 

So  started  up  in  his  own  shape  the  Fiend. 

Back  stept  those  two  fair  angels,  half  amazed 
So  sudden  to  behold  the  grizzly  king. 

Yet  thus,  unmoved  with  fear,  accost  him  soon : 

Which  of  those  rebel  spirits  adjudged  to  hell 
Com’st  thou,  escaped  thy  prison?  and  transformed, 

Why  satt’st  thou  like  an  enemy  in  wait, 

Here  watching  at  the  head  of  these  that  sleep? 


# 


These  to  the  bower  direct 
In  search  of  whom  they  sought. 

Booh  IV.,  lines  798,  799. 


18 


Look  IV.— 827-862] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


103 


Know  ye  not,  then,  said  Satan,  filled  with  scorn* 
Know  ye  not  me?  Ye  knew  me  once  no  mate 
For  you,  there  sitting  where  ye  durst  not  soar: 

Not  to  know  me,  argues  yourself  unknown, 

The  lowest  of  your  throng ;  or,  if  ye  know, 

Why  ask  ye,  and  superfluous  begin 

Your  message,  like  to  end  as  much  in  vain  ? 

To  whom  thus  Zephon,  answering  scorn  with  scorn  : 
Think  not,  revolted  spirit,  thy  shape  the  same, 

Or  undiminished  brightness  to  be  known, 

As  when  thou  stood’st  in  heaven,  upright  and  pure ; 
That  glory  then,  when  thou  no  more  wast  good, 
Departed  from  thee ;  and  thou  resemblest  now 
Thy  sin  and  place  of  doom  obscure  and  foul. 

But  come ;  for  thou,  he  sure,  shalt  give  account 
To  him  who  sent  us,  whose  charge  is  to  keep 
This  place  inviolable,  and  these  from  harm. 

So  spake  the  cherub ;  and  his  grave  rebuke, 

Severe  in  youthful  beauty,  added  grace 
Invincible.  Abashed  the  devil  stood, 

And  felt  how  awful  goodness  is,  and  saw 
Virtue  in  her  shape  how  lovely ;  saw,  and  pined 
His  loss  ;  but  chieliy  to  find  here  observed 
His  lustre  visibly  impaired ;  yet  seemed 
Undaunted.  If  I  must  contend,  said  he, 

Best  with  the  best,  the  sender  not  the  sent, 

Or  all  at  once ;  more  glory  will  be  won, 

Or  less  he  lost.  Thy  fear,  said  Zephon  hold, 

Will  save  us  trial  what  the  least  can  do 
Single  against  thee,  wicked  and  thence  weak. 

The  Fiend  replied  not,  overcome  with  rage  ; 

But,  like  a  proud  steed  reined,  went  haughty  on, 
Champing  his  iron  curb :  to  strive  or  fly 
He  held  it  vain  ;  awe  from  above  had  quelled 
His  heart,  not  else  dismayed.  Now  drew  they  nigh 
The  western  point,  where  those  lialf-rounding  guards 


04 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IV.-  863-898 


Just  met,  and,  closing,  stood  in  squadron  joined, 

Awaiting  next  command.  To  whom  their  chief, 

Gabriel,  from  the  front  thus  called  aloud : 

0  friends  !.  I  hear  the  tread  of  nimble  feet 
Hasting  this  way,  and  now  by  glimpse  discern 
Ithuriel,  and  Zephon,  through  the  shade  ; 

And  with  them  comes  a  third  of  regal  port, 

But  faded  splendour  wan,  who  by  his  gait 
And  fierce  demeanour  seems  the  prince  of  Hell, 

Not  likely  to  part  hence,  without  contest ; 

Stand  firm,  for  in  his  look  defiance  lours. 

He  scarce  had  ended,  when  those  two  approached 
And  brief  related  whom  they  brought,  wdiere  found, 

How  busied,  in  what  form  and  posture  couched. 

To  wTiom  wfith  stern  regard  thus  Gabriel  spake  : 

Why  hast  thou,  Satan,  broke  the  hounds  prescribed 
To  thy  transgressions,  and  disturbed  the  charge 
Of  others,  who  approve  not  to  transgress 
By  thy  example,  but  have  power  and  right 
To  question  thy  bold  entrance  on  this  place ; 

Employed,  it  seems,  to  violate  sleep,  and  those 
Whose  dwelling  God  hath  planted  here  in  bliss? 

To  whom  thus  Satan,  with  contemptuous  brow : 
Gabriel,  thou  hadst  in  Heaven  the  esteem  of  wise, 

And  such  I  held  thee ;  but  this  question  asked 

Puts  me  in  doubt.  Lives  there  who  loves  his  pain? 

Who  would  not,  finding  way,  break  loose  from  hell, 

Though  thither  doomed?  Thou  wouldst  thyself,  no  doubt. 

And  boldly  venture  to  whatever  place 

Farthest  from  pain,  where  thou  mightst  hope  to  change 

Torment  with  ease,  and  soonest  recompense 

Hole  with  delight,  which  in  this  place  I  sought ; 

To  thee  no  reason,  who  knowest  only  good, 

But  evil  hast  not  tried  :  and  wilt  object 
His  wfill  who  bound  us?  Let  him  surer  bar 
His  iron  gates,  if  he  intends  our  stay 


Book  IV.— 899-932] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


105 


In  that  dark  durance.  Thus  much  what  was  asked. 

The  rest  is  true,  they  found  me  where  they  say ; 

But  that  implies  not  violence  or  harm. 

Thus  he  in  scorn.  The  warlike  Angel  moved, 
Disdainfully  half  smiling,  thus  replied : 

0  loss  of  one  in  heaven  to  judge  of  wise  ! 

Since  Satan  fell,  whom  folly  overthrew, 

And  now  returns  him  from  his  prison  ’scaped, 

Gravely  in  doubt  whether  to  hold  them  wise 
Or  not,  who  ask  what  boldness  brought  him  hither 
Unlicensed  from  his  hounds  in  hell  prescribed ; 

So  wise  he  judges  it  to  fly  from  pain, 

However,  and  to  ’scape  his  punishment  ! 

So  judge  thou  still,  presumptuous !  till  the  wrath, 

Which  thou  incurr’st  by  flying,  meet  thy  flight 
Sevenfold,  and  scourge  that  wisdom  back  to  hell 
Which  taught  thee  yet  no  better,  that  no  pain 
Can  equal  anger  infinite  provoked. 

But  wherefore  thou  alone  ?  Wherefore  with  thee 
Came  not  all  hell  broke  loose  ?  Is  pain  to  them 
Less  pain,  less  to  be  fled  ;  or  thou  than  they 
Less  hardy  to  endure  ?  Courageous  chief ! 

The  first  in  flight  from  pain !  Hast  thou  alleged 
To  thy  deserted  host  this  cause  of  flight, 

Thou  surely  hadst  not  come  sole  fugitive. 

To  which  the  Fiend  thus  answered,  frowning  stern  * 
Not  that  I  less  endure,  or  shrink  from  pain 
Insulting  Angel !  Well  thou  lmowest  I  stood 
The  fiercest,  when  in  battle  to  thy  aid 
The  blasting  vollied  thunder  made  all  speed, 

And  seconded  thy  else  not  dreaded  spear. 

But  still  thy  words  at  random  as  before 
Argue  thy  inexperience,  what  behoves1 
From  hard  assays,  and  ill  successes  past, 


*  Inexperience ,  what  behoves. — As  to  what  behoves. 


106 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IV.— 933-967 


A  faithful  leader,  not  to  hazard  all 
Through  ways  of  danger  hy  himself  untried. 

I  therefore,  I  alone  first  undertook 
To  wing  the  desolate  ahyss  and  spy 
This  new-created  world,  whereof  in  hell 
Fame  is  not  silent,  here  in  hope  to  find 
Better  abode,  and  my  afflicted  powers 
To  settle  here  on  earth,  or  in  mid  air ; 

Though  for  possession  put  to  try  once  more 
What  thou  and  thy  gay  legions  dare  against  ; 

Whose  easier  business  were  to  serve  their  Lord 
High  up  in  heaven,  with  songs  to  hymn  his  throne, 
And  practised  distances  to  cringe,  not  fight. 

To  whom  the  warrior  Angel  soon  replied  : 

To  say  and  straight  unsay,  pretending  first 
Wise  to  fly  pain,  professing  next  the  spy, 

Argues  no  leader,  but  a  liar  traced, 

Satan:  and  couldst  thou  faithful  add?  0  name, 

0  sacred  name  of  faithfulness  profaned  ! 

t 

F aithful  to  whom  ?  To  thy  rebellious  crew  ? 

Army  of  fiends,  fit  body  to  fit  head. 

Was  this  your  discipline  and  faith  engaged, 

Your  military  obedience,  to  dissolve 

Allegiance  to  the  acknowledged  Power  Supreme  ? 

And  thou,  sly  hypocrite,  who  now  wouldst  seem 

Patron  of  liberty,  who  more  than  thou 

Once  fawned,  and  cringed,  and  servilely  adored 

Heaven’s  awful  monarch  ?  wherefore,  hut  in  hope 

To  dispossess  him,  and  thyself  to  reign? 

But  mark  what  I  areed  thee1  now :  Avaunt  ! 

Fly  thither  whence  thou  fledd’st !  If  from  this  hour 
Within  these  hallowed  limits  thou  appear, 

» '  Back  to  the  infernal  pit  I  drag  thee  chained, 

And  seal  thee  so,  as  henceforth  not  to  scorn 
The  facile  gates  of  hell  too  slightly  barred. 


'  Areed,  thee. — Anglo  Saxon,  for  counsel — admonish. 


Book  IV.— 968-1001] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


10 


So  threatened  he  ;  but  Satan  to  no  threats 
Gave  heed,  but,  waxing  more  in  rage,  replied  : 

Then,  when  I  am  thy  captive,  talk  of  chains, 

Proud  limitary  cherub  I1  hut  ere  then 
Far  heavier  load  thyself  expect  to  feel 
From  my  prevailing  arm,  though  heaven’s  king 
Ride  on  thy  wings,  and  thou  with  thy  compeers, 

Used  to  the  yoke,  draw’st  his  triumphant  wheels 
In  progress  through  the  road  of  Heaven  star-paved. 

While  thus  he  spake,  the  angelic  squadron  bright 
Turned  fiery  red,  sharpening  in  mooned  horns 
Their  phalanx,  and  began  to  hem  him  round 
With  ported  spears,  as  thick  as  when  a  field 
Of  Ceres,  ripe  for  harvest,  waving  bends 
Her  bearded  grove  of  ears,  which  way  the  wind 
Sways  them ;  the  careful  ploughman  doubting  stands, 

Lest  on  the  threshing-floor  his  hopeful  sheaves 
Prove  chaff.  On  the  other  side,  Satan,  alarmed, 

Collecting  all  his  might,  dilated  stood, 

Like  Teneriff  or  Atlas,  unremoved : 

His  stature  reached  the  sky,  and  on  his  crest 
Sat  horror  plumed ;  nor  wanted  in  his  grasp 
What  seemed  both  spear  and  shield.  Now  dreadful  deeds 
Might  have  ensued ;  nor  only  Paradise, 

In  this  commotion,  but  the  starry  cope 
Of  heaven  perhaps,  or  all  the  elements 
At  least  had  gone  to  wrack,  disturbed  and  torn 
With  violence  of  this  conflict,  had  not  soon 
The  Eternal,  to  prevent  such  horrid  fray, 

Hung  forth  in  heaven  his  golden  scales,  yet  seen 
Betwixt  Astrea  and  the  Scorpion2  sign, 

Wherein  all  things  created  first  He  weighed, 

The  pendulous  round  earth  with  balanced  air 
In  counterpoise;  now  ponders  all  events, 


1  Proud  limitary  cherub. — One  set  to  watch  limits — to  guard  boundaries. 

2  Betwixt  Astrea  and  the  Scorpion. — Signs  in  the  Zodiac. 


108 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IV.— 1002-1015 


Battles  and  realms :  in  these  he  put  two  weights, 

The  sequel  each  of  parting  and  of  fight : 

The  latter  quick  up  flew,  and  kicked  the  beam ; 

Which  Gabriel  spying,  thus  bespake  the  Fiend : 

Satan,  I  know  thy  strength,  and  thou  know’st  mine ; 
Neither  our  own,  but  given ;  what  folly  then 
To  boast  what  arms  can  do  !  since  thine  no  more 
Than  Heaven  permits,  nor  mine,  though  doubled  now 
To  trample  thee  as  mire :  for  proof  look  up, 

And  read  thy  lot  in  yon  celestial  sign, 

Where  thou  art  weighed,  and  shown  how  light,  how  weak 
If  thou  resist.  The  Fiend  looked  up,  and  knew 
His  mounted  scale  aloft :  nor  more  ;*  hut  fled 
Murmuring,  and  with  him  fled  the  shades  of  night. 


1  Scale  aloft :  nor  more. — Nor  said  ought  more. 


Nor  more;  but  fled 

Murmuring,  and  with  him  fled  the  shades  of  night. 

Book  IV.,  lines  1014,  1015. 


19 


■  1 1 


Leaning,  half  raised,  with  looks  of  cordial  love 
Hung  over  her  enamoured. 


Book  V.,  lines  12, 13, 


BOOK  V. 


Morning  approached,  Eve  relates  to  Adam  her  troublesome  dream;  he  likes  it  not,  yet  comforts  her;  they  come 
forth  to  their  day-labors;  their  morning  hymn  at  the  door  of  their  bower,  God,  to  render  man  inexcusable, 
sends  Raphael  to  admonish  him  of  his  obedience,  of  his  free  estate,  of  his  enemy  near  at  hand,  who  he  is, 
and  why  his  enemy,  and  whatever  else  may  avail  Adam  to  know.  Raphael  comes  down  to  Paradise ;  Ins  appear¬ 
ance  described;  his  coming  discerned  by  Adam  afar  off,  sitting  at  the  door  of  his  bower;  he  goes  out  to  meet 
him,  brings  him  to  his  lodge,  entertains  him  with  the  choicest  fruits  of  Paradise,  got  together  by  Eve;  their 
discourse  at  table ;  Rapahel  performs  his  message,  minds  Adam  of  his  state  and  of  his  enemy ;  relates,  at 
Adam’s  request,  who  that  enemy  is,  and  how  he  came  to  be  so,  beginning  from  the  first  revolt  in  heaven,  and 
the  occasion  thereof;  how  he  drew  his  legions  after  lnm  to  the  parts  of  the  north,  and  there  incited  them  to 
rebel  with  him,  persuading  all  but  only  Abdiel,  a  seraph,  who  in  argument  dissuades  and  opposes  him,  then 
forsakes  him. 

OW  morn,  her  rosy  steps  in  the  eastern  clime 
Advancing,  sowed  the  earth  with  orient  pearl. 

When  Adam  waked,  so  customed  :  for  his  sleep 
Was  aery-light,  from  pure  digestion  bred, 

And  temperate  vapours  bland,  which  the  only  sound 
Of  leaves  and  fuming  rills,  Aurora’s  fan,1 
Lightly  dispersed,  and  the  shrill  matin  song 
Of  birds  on  every  hough ;  so  much  the  more 
His  wonder  was  to  find  unawakened  Eve 
With  tresses  discomposed,  and  glowing  cheek 
As  through  unquiet  rest.  He,  on  his  side 
Leaning,  half  raised,  with  looks  of  cordial  love 
Hung  over  her  enamoured,  and  beheld 
Beauty,  which,  whether  waking  or  asleep, 

Shot  forth  peculiar  graces ;  then  with  voice 
Mild  as  when  Zephyrus  on  Flora  breathes, 

Her  hand  soft  touching,  whisper’d  thus : — Awake, 

My  fairest,  my  espoused,  my  latest  found, 

Heaven’s  last,  best  gift,  my  ever-new  delight ! 

Awake :  the  morning  shines,  and  the  fresh  field 
Calls  us ;  wTe  lose  the  prime  to  mark  how  spring 
Our  tender  plants,  how  blows  the  citron  grove, 

What  drops  the  myrrh,  and  what  the  balmy  reed, 

1  Aurora's  fan. — We  often  speak  of  fanning  winds,  and  in  the  morning  they  may  be  described  as  Aurora  s  fan. 


no 


PARADISE  LOST, 


[Book  V.—  24-58 


How  Nature  paints  her  colours,  how  the  hee 
Sits  on  the  bloom  extracting  liquid  sweet. 

Such  whispering  waked  her,  hut  with  startled  eye 
On  Adam,  whom  embracing,  thus  she  spake : — 

0  sole  in  whom  my  thoughts  find  all  repose. 

My  glory,  my  perfection !  glad  I  see 

Thy  face  and  morn  returned ;  for  I  this  night — 

Such  night  till  this  I  never  passed — have  dreamed, 

If  dreamed,  not,  as  I  oft  am  wont,  of  thee, 

Works  of  day  past,  or  morrow’s  next  design ; 

But  of  offence  and  trouble,  which  my  mind 
Knew  never  till  this  irksome  night.  Methought 
Close  at  mine  ear  one  called  me  forth  to  walk 
With  gentle  voice — I  thought  it  thine.  It  said, 

Why  sleep’st  thou,  Eve?  now  is  the  pleasant  time. 

The  cool,  the  silent,  save  where  silence  yields 
To  the  night- warbling  bird,  that  now  aw^ake 
Tunes  sweetest  his  love-laboured  song ;  now  reigns 
Full-orbed  the  moon,  and  with  more  pleasing  light 
Shadowy  sets  off  the  face  of  things — in  vain, 

If  none  regard.  Heaven  wakes  with  all  his  eyes, 
Whom  to  behold  but  thee,  Nature’s  desire  ? 

In  whose  sight  all  things  joy,  with  ravishment 
Attracted  by  thy  beauty  still  to  gaze. 

I  rose  as  at  thy  call,  but  found  thee  not; 

To  find  thee  I  directed  then  my  walk ; 

And  on,  methought,  alone  I  passed  through  ways 
That  brought  me  on  a  sudden  to  the  tree 
Of  interdicted  knowledge.  Fair  it  seemed, 

Much  fairer  to  my  fancy  than  by  day : 

And,  as  I  wondering  looked,  beside  it  stood 
One  shaped  and  winged  like  one  of  those  from  heaven 
By  us  oft  seen  :  his  dewy  locks  distilled 
Ambrosia.1  On  that  tree  he  also  gazed ; 

And  oh,  fair  plant,  said  he,  with  fruit  surcharged, 


Ambrosia. — Grateful  odour,  proper  to  the  gods. 


Book  V.— 59-94] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


Ill 


Deigns  none  to  ease  thy  load,  and  taste  thy  sweefi 
Nor  God,  nor  man?  Is  knowledge  so  despised? 

Or  envy,  or  what  reserve  forbids  to  taste? 

Forbid  who  will,  none  shall  from  me  withhold 
Longer  thy  offered  good  ;  why  else  set  here  ? 

This  said,  he  paused  not,  but  with  venturous  arm 
He  plucked,  he  tasted.  Me  damp  horror  chilled 
At  such  bold  words,  vouched  with  a  deed  so  hold : 
But  he  thus,  overjoyed  :  0  fruit  divine, 

Sweet  of  thyself,  hut  much  more  sweet  thus  cropt, 

Forbidden  here,  it  seems,  as  only  fit 

For  gods,  yet  able  to  make  gods  of  men; 

And  wdiy  not  gods  of  men  ;  since  good,  the  more 
Communicated,  more  abundant  grows, 

The  author  not  impaired,  hut  honoured  more? 

Here,  happy  creature,  fair  angelic  Eve  ! 

Partake  thou  also :  happy  though  thou  art, 

Happier  thou  mayst  be,  worthier  canst  not  be, 
Taste  this,  and  be  henceforth  among  the  gods 
Thyself  a  goddess,  not  to  earth  confined, 

But  sometimes  in  the  air,  as  we ;  sometimes 
Ascend  to  Heaven,  by  merit  thine,  and  see 
What  life  the  gods  live  there,  and  such  live  thou. 
So  saying,  he  drew  nigh,  and  to  me  held, 

Even  to  my  mouth  of  that  same  fruit  held  part 
Which  he  had  plucked  :  the  pleasant  savoury  smell 
So  quickened  appetite,  that  I,  methought, 

Could  not  but  taste.  Forthwith  up  to  the  clouds 
With  him  I  flew,  and  underneath  beheld 
The  earth  outstretched  immense,  a  prospect  wide 
And  various ;  wondering  at  my  flight  and  change 
To  this  high  exaltation,  suddenly 
My  guide  was  gone,  and  I,  methought,  sunk  down 
And  fell  asleep  ;  but,  oh,  how  glad  I  waked 
To  find  this  but  a  dream.  Tims  Eve  her  night 
Related,  and  thus  Adam  answered  sad : 


112 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  V.— 95-130 


Best  image  of  myself,  and  dearer  half, 

The  trouble  of  thy  thoughts  this  night  in  sleep 

Affects  me  equally ;  nor  can  I  like 

This  uncouth  dream,  of  evil  sprung,  I  fear. 

Yet  evil  whence?  in  thee  can  harbour  none, 

Created  pure.  But  know,  that  in  the  soul 
Are  many  lesser  faculties,  that  serve 
Beason  as  chief.  Among  these,  Fancy  next 
Her  office  holds ;  of  all  external  things, 

Which  the  five  watchful  senses  represent, 

She  forms  imaginations,  aery  shapes, 

Which  reason  joining  or  disjoining  frames 
All  what  we  affirm  or  what  deny,  and  call 
Our  knowledge  or  opinion ;  then  retires 
Into  her  private  cell,  when  nature  rests. 

Oft  in  her  absence  mimic  Fancy  wakes 
To  imitate  her ;  hut  misjoining  shapes, 

Wild  work  produces  oft,  and  most  in  dreams; 

III  matching  words  and  deeds  long  past  or  late, 

Some  such  resemblances,  methinks,  I  find 
Of  our  last  evening’s  talk  in  this  thy  dream, 

But  with  addition  strange ;  yet  be  not  sad. 

Evil  into  the  mind  of  God  or  Man 
May  come  and  go,  so  unapproved,  and  leave 
No  spot  or  blame  behind ;  which  gives  me  hope 
That  what  in  sleep  thou  didst  abhor  to  dream, 

Waking  thou  never  wilt  consent  to  do. 

Be  not  disheartened,  then,  nor  cloud  those  looks, 

That  wont  to  be  more  cheerful  and  serene, 

Than  when  fair  morning  first  smiles  on  the  world ; 

And  let  us  to  our  fresh  employments  rise 
Among  the  groves,  the  fountains,  and  the  flowers, 

That  open  now  their  choicest  bosomed  smells, 

Reserved  from  night,  and  kept  for  thee  in  store. 

So  cheered  he  his  fair  spouse,  and  she  was  cheered, 
But  silently  a  gentle  tear  let  fall 


Book  V.- 131-166] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


113 


From  either  eye,  and  wiped  them  with  her  hair  ; 
Two  other  precious  drops  that  ready  stood, 

Each  in  their  crystal  sluice,  he,  ere  they  fell, 

Kissed,  as  the  gracious  signs  of  sweet  remorse 
And  pious  awe,  that  feared  to  have  offended. 

So  all  was  eleared,  and  to  the  field  they  haste. 
But  first  from  under  shady  arborous  roof, 

Soon  as  they  forth  were  come  to  open  sight 
Of  day-spring,  and  the  sun,  who,  scarce  uprisen, 

With  wheels  yet  hovering  o’er  the  ocean-brim, 

Shot  parallel  to  the  earth  his  dewy  ray, 

Discovering  in  wide  landscape  all  the  east 
Of  Paradise  and  Eden’s  happy  plains, 

Lowly  they  bowed  adoring,  and  began 

Their  orisons,  each  morning  duly  paid 

In  various  style  ;  for  neither  various  style 

Nor  holy  rapture  wanted  they  to  praise 

Their  Maker,  in  fit  strains  pronounced,  or  sung 

Unmeditated ;  such  prompt  eloquence 

Flowed  from  their  lips,  in  prose  or  numerous  verse ; 

More  tuneable  than  needed  lute  or  harp 

To  add  more  sweetness ;  and  they  thus  began : 

These  are  Thy  glorious  works,  Parent  of  good, 
Almighty  !  Thine  this  universal  frame, 

Thus  wondrous  fair  :  Thyself  how  wondrous  then  ! 
Unspeakable,  who  sitt’st  above  these  heavens 
To  us  invisible,  or  dimly  seen 
In  these  thy  lowest  works ;  yet  these  declare 
Thy  goodness  beyond  thought,  and  power  divine. 
Speak,  ye  who  best  can  tell,  ye  sons  of  light, 
Angels,  for  ye  behold  Him,  and  with  songs 
And  choral  symphonies,  day  without  night, 

Circle  his  throne  rejoicing ;  ye  in  heaven, 

On  earth  join  all  ye  creatures  to  extol 

Him  first,  Him  last,  Him  midst,  and  without  end. 

Fairest  of  stars,  last  in  the  train  of  night, 


114 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  V.— 167-198 


If  better  thou  belong  not  to  the  dawn, 

Sure  pledge  of  day,  that  crown’st  the  smiling  morn 
With  thy  bright  circlet,  praise  Him  in  thy  sphere, 

While  day  arises,  that  sweet  hour  of  prime. 

Thou  Sun,  of  this  great  world  both  eye  and  soul, 
Acknowledge  Him  thy  greater ;  sound  His  praise 
In  thy  eternal  course,  both  when  thou  climb’st, 

And  wThen  high  noon  hast  gained,  and  wThen  thou  falTst. 
Moon,  that  now  meet’st  the  orient  sun,  nowr  fly’st, 

With  the  fixed  stars,  fixed  in  their  orb  that  flies ; 

And  ye  five  other  wandering  fires,1  that  move 
In  mystic  dance2  not  without  song,  resound 
His  praise,  wdio  out  of  darkness  called  up  light. 

Air,  and  ye  elements,  the  eldest  birth 

Of  nature’s  womb,  that  in  quarternion  run3 

Perpetual  circle,  multiform  ;  and  mix 

And  nourish  all  things ;  let  your  ceaseless  change 

Vary  to  our  great  Maker  still  new  praise. 

Ye  mists  and  exhalations,  that  now  rise 
From  hill  or  steaming  lake,  dusky  or  grey, 

Till  the  sun  paint  your  fleecy  skirts  with  gold, 

In  honour  to  the  world’s  great  Author  rise ; 

Whether  to  deck  with  clouds  the  uncoloured  sky, 

Or  wet  the  thirsty  earth  with  falling  showers, 

Rising  or  falling,  still  advance  His  praise. 

His  praise,  ye  winds  that  from  four  quarters  hlowT, 
Breathe  soft  or  loud  ;  and  vutve  your  tops,  ye  pines. 
With  every  plant,  in  sign  of  worship  wave. 

Fountains,  and  ye  that  warble  as  ye  flow', 

Melodious  murmurs,  warbling  tune  His  praise. 

Join  voices,  all  ye  living  souls:  ye  birds 
That,  singing,  up  to  Heaven-gate  ascend, 


1  And  ye  five  other  wandering  fires. — The  five  planets  known  in  Milton’s  time — Venus,  Mercury,  Mars,  Jupiter 
and  Saturn. 

a  That  move  in  mystic  dance. — The  fitting  action  of  things  is  often  described  as  their  music.  Hence  the  wide 
application  of  the  words  harmony,  concord,  &c  ,  derived  from  music. 

8  That  in  quaternion  run. — A  reference  to  the  supposed  four-fold  influence  of  the  first  elements  of  things. 


Book  V. — 199-232]  PARADISE  LOST.  115 

Bear  on  your  wings  and  in  your  notes  His  praise. 

Ye  that  in  waters  glide,  and  ye  that  walk 
The  earth,  and  stately  tread,  or  lowly  creep ; 

Witness  if*  I  be  silent,  morn  or  even, 

To  hill  or  valley,  fountain  or  fresh  shade, 

Made  vocal  by  .my  song,  and  taught  His  praise. 

Hail,  universal  Lord !  be  bounteous  still 
To  give  us  only  good ;  and  if  the  night 
Have  gathered  aught  of  evil,  or  concealed, 

Disperse  it,  as  now  light  dispels  the  dark. 

So  prayed  they  innocent,  and  to  their  thoughts 
Firm  peace  recovered  soon,  and  wonted  calm. 

On  to  their  morning’s  rural  work  they  haste, 

Among  sweet  dews  and  flowers,  where  any  row 

Of  fruit-trees,  over- woody,  reached  too  far 

Their  pampered  boughs,  and  needed  hands  to  check 

Fruitless  embraces :  or  they  led  the  vine 

To  wed  her  elm  ;  she,  spoused,  about  him  twines 

Her  marriageable  arms,  and  with  her  brings 

Her  dower,  the  adopted  clusters,  to  adorn 

His  barren  leaves.  Them  thus  employed  beheld 

With  pity  heaven’s  high  King,  and  to  Him  called 

Raphael,  the  sociable  spirit,  that  deigned 

To  travel  with  Tobias,1  and  secured 

His  marriage  with  the  seven-times  wedded  maid. 

Raphael,  said  he,  thou  hear’st  what  stir  on  Earth 
Satan,  from  Hell  ’scaped  through  the  darksome  gulf, 

Hath  raised  in  Paradise  ;  and  how  disturbed 
This  night  the  human  pair ;  how  he  designs 
In  them  at  once  to  ruin  all  mankind. 

Go,  therefore,  half  this  day,  as  friend  with  friend, 

Converse  with  Adam,  in  what  bower  or  shade 
Thou  find’st  him  from  the  heat  of  noon  retired, 

To  respite  his  day-labour  with  repast, 


1  To  travel  with  Tobias. — See  Book  of  Tobit. 


116 


PARADISE  LOST. 


['BOOK  Y.— 238-264 


Or  with  repose ;  and  such  discourse  bring  on 
As  may  advise  him1  of  his  happy  state — 

Happiness  in  his  power,  left  free  to  will, 

Left  to  his  own  free  will,  his  will  though  free 
Yet  mutable ;  whence  warn  him  to  beware 
He  swerve  not,  too  secure.  Tell  him  withal 
His  danger,  and  from  whom ;  what  enemy 
Late  fallen  himself  from  heaven,  is  plotting  now 
The  fall  of  others  from  like  state  of  bliss ; 

By  violence  ?  no,  for  that  shall  be  withstood ; 

But  by  deceit  and  lies.  This  let  him  know. 

Lest  wilfully  transgressing,  he  pretend 
Surprisal,  unadmonished,  unforewarned. 

So  spake  the  Eternal  Father,  and  fulfilled 
All  justice.  'Nor  delayed  the  winged  saint 
After  his  charge  received ;  but  from  among 
Thousand  celestial  Ardours,2  where  he  stood 
Veiled  with  his  gorgeous  wings,  up  springing  light, 

Flew  through  the  midst  of  heaven ; — the  angelic  quires. 
On  each  hand  parting,  to  his  speed  gave  way 
Through  all  the  empyreal  road :  till,  at  the  gate 
Of  Heaven  arrived,  the  gate  self  opened  wide 
On  golden  hinges  turning,  as  by  work 
Divine  the  sov’reign  Architect  had  framed. 

From  hence  no  cloud,  or,  to  obstruct  his  sight, 

Star  interposed,  however  small — -he  sees, 

Not  unconform3  to  other  shining  globes, 

Earth,  and  the  garden  of  God,  with  cedars  crowned 
Above  all  hills.  As  when  by  night  the  glass 
Of  Galileo,  less  assured,  observes 
Imagined  lands  and  regions  in  the  moon : 

Or  pilot,4  from  amidst  the  Cyclades, 

» 

i 


1  As  may  advise  him.  -Make  him  aware  of — sensible  to. 

3  Celestial  Ardours. — Seraphic  powers. 

s  Not  unconform.-  Sees  the  earth  as  conformed  in  appearance  to  other  globes. 

4  Or  pilot. — Used  by  Milton  for  captain  or  commander. 


Book  V.- 265-295] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


11 


Delos  or  Samos1  first  appearing,  kens 
A  cloudy  spot.  Down  thither  prone  in  flight 
He  speeds,  and  through  the  vast  ethereal  sky 
Sails  between  worlds  and  worlds,  with  steady  wing, 
Now  on  the  polar  winds,  then  with  quick  fan 
Winnows  the  buxom  air  ;2  till,  within  soar 
Of  towering  eagles,  to  all  the  fowls  he  seems 
A  phoenix,  gazed  by  all,  as  that  sole  bird, 

When,  to  enshrine  his  relics  in  the  Sun’s 
Bright  temple,  to  Egyptian  Thebes  he  flies. 

At  once  on  the  eastern  cliff*  of  Paradise 
He  lights ;  and  to  his  proper  shape  returns, 

A  seraph  winged.  Six  wdngs  he  wore,  to  shade 
His  lineaments  divine ;  the  pair  that  clad 
Each  shoulder,  broad,  came  mantling  o’er  his  breast 
With  regal  ornament ;  the  middle  pair 
Girt  like  a  starry  zone  his  waist,  and  round 
Skirted  his  loins  and  thighs  with  downy  gold, 

And  colours  dipt  in  heaven  ;  the  third  his  feet 
Shadowed  from  either  heel  with  feathered  mail, 
Sky-tinctured  grain.3  Like  Maia’s  son4  he  stood, 

And  shook  his  plumes,  that  heavenly  fragrance  filled 
The  circuit  wide.  Straight  knew  him  all  the  bands 
Of  Angels  under  watch ;  and  to  his  state, 

And  to  his  message  high,  in  honour  rise ; 

For  on  some  message  high  they  guessed  him  bound. 
Their  glittering  tents  he  passed,  and  nowr  is  come 
Into  the  blissful  field,  through  groves  of  myrrh, 

And  flowering  odours,  cassia,  nard,  and  balm ; 

A  wilderness  of  sweets ;  for  N ature  here 
Wantoned  as  in  her  prime,  and  played  at  will 


1  Cyclades,  Delos  or  Samos. — Greek  islands. 

3  Buxom  air. — Light,  yielding. 

3  Feathered  mail ,  slcy-tinctured  grain. — Beautiful  colouring  wrought  in  so  as  to  be  durable. 
“  Dipt  in  the  richest  tincture  of  the  skies.” 

Pope ,  “  Rape  of  the  Lock,”  cant.  ii. 


4  Like  Maia's  son. — Like  Mercury. 


118 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  V.— 296  330 


Her  virgin  fancies,  pouring  forth  more  sweet, 

Wild  above  rule  or  art,  enormous  bliss. 

Him  through  the  spicy  forest  onward  come 

Adam  discerned,  as  in  the  door  he  sat 

Of  his  cool  bower,  while  now  the  mounted  sun 

Shot  down  direct  his  fervid  rays,  to  warm 

Earth’s  inmost  womb,  more  warmth  than  Adam  needs; 

And  Eve  within,  due  at  her  hour  prepared 

For  dinner  savoury  fruits,  of  taste  to  please 

True  appetite,  and  not  disrelish  thirst 

Of  nectareous  draughts  between,  from  milky  stream, 

Berry,  or  grape :  to  whom  thus  Adam  called : 

Haste  hither,  Eve,  and,  worth  thy  sight,  behold, 
Eastward  among  those  trees,  what  glorious  shape 
Comes  this  way  moving ;  seems1  another  morn 
Risen  on  mid-noon.  Some  great  behest  from  Heaven 
To  us  perhaps  he  brings,  and  will  vouchsafe 
This  day  to  be  our  guest.  But  go  with  speed, 

And,  what  thy  stores  contain,  bring  forth,  and  pour 
Abundance,  fit  to  honour  and  receive 
Our  heavenly  stranger ;  well  we  may  afford 
Our  givers  their  own  gifts,  and  large  bestow 
From  large  bestowed,  where  Nature  multiplies 
Her  fertile  growth,  and  by  disburdening  grows 
More  fruitful,  which  instructs  us  not  to  spare. 

To  whom  thus  Eve  :  Adam,  earth,  hallowed  mould, 
Of  God  inspired !  small  store  will  serve,  where  store, 

All  seasons,  ripe  for  use  hangs  on  the  stalk; 

Save  what  by  frugal  storing  firmness  gains 
To  nourish,  and  superfluous  moist  consumes. 

But  I  will  haste,  and  from  each  bouo'h  and  brake, 
Each  plant  and  juiciest  gourd,  will  pluck  such  choice 
To  entertain  our  Angel-guest,  as  he 
Beholding  shall  confess  that  here  on  earth 
God  hath  dispensed  his  bounties  as  in  Heaven. 


1  Seems. — It  seems. 


21  Eastward  among  those  trees,  what  glorious  shape 

Comes  this  way  moving. 


Book  V.,  lines  809,  310. 


Book  Y.— 331-363] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


119 


So  saying,  with  dispatchful  looks,  in  haste 
She  turns,  on  hospitable  thoughts  intent 
What  choice  to  choose  for  delicacy  best, 

What  order  so  contrived  as  not  to  mix 
Tastes  not  well  joined,  inelegant,  but  bring 
Taste  after  taste  upheld  with  kindliest  change ; 

Bestirs  her  then,  and  from  each  tender  stalk 
Whatever  Earth,  all-bearing  mother,  yields 
In  India  East  or  West,  or  middle  shore 
In  Pontus  or  the  Punic  coast,1  or  where 
Alcinous  reigned  ;2  fruit  of  all  kinds,  in  coat 
Bough,  or  smooth  rind,  or  bearded  husk,  or  shell, 

She  gathers,  tribute  large,  and  on  the  hoard 
Heaps  with  unsparing  hand.  For  drink  the  grape 
She  crushes,  inoffensive  must,3  and  meaths4 
From  many  a  berry,  and  from  sweet  kernels  pressed, 
She  tempers  dulcet  creams ;  nor  these  to  hold 
Wants  her  fit  vessels  pure ;  then  strews  the  ground 
With  rose  and  odours  from  the  shrub  unfumed. 

Meanwhile  our  primitive  great  sire,  to  meet 
His  godlike  guest,  walks  forth  without  more  train 
Accompanied  than  with  his  own  complete 
Perfections.  In  himself  was  all  his  state, 

More  solemn  than  the  tedious  pomp  that  waits 
On  princes,  when  their  rich  retinue  long 
Of  horses  led,  and  grooms  besmeared  with  gold, 
Dazzles  the  crowd,  and  sets  them  all  agape. 

Nearer  his  presence  Adam,  though  not  awed, 

Yet  with  submiss  approach  and  reverence  meek, 

As  to  a  superior  nature,  bowing  low, 

Thus  said:  Native  of  Heaven,  for  other  place 
None  can  than  Heaven  such  glorious  shape  contain  ; 
Since  by  descending  from  the  thrones  above. 


1  Pontus  or  the  Punic  coast. — On  the  northern  or  the  southern  shores  of  the  Mediterranean. 
3  Alcinous  reigned. — He  reigned  over  Corfu,  Corcyra.  &c. 

8  She  crushes,  inoffensive  must. — New  wine,  pressed  from  the  grape,  but  not  fermented. 

*  And  meaths. — Drinks.  Anglo-Saxon. 


120 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  V.-  364-396 


Those  happy  places  thou  hast  deigned  a  while 
To  want,  and  honour  these  ;  vouchsafe  with  us 
Two  only,  who  yet  by  sovereign  gift  possess 
This  spacious  ground,  in  yonder  shady  bower 
To  rest,  and  what  the  garden  choicest  bears 
To  sit  and  taste,  till  this  meridian  heat 
Be  over,  and  the  sun  more  cool  decline. 

Whom  thus  the  angelic  Virtue1  answered  mild : 
Adam,  I  therefore  came ;  nor  art  thou  such 
Created,  or  such  place  hast  here  to  dwell, 

As  may  not  oft  invite,  though  spirits  of  Heaven, 

To  visit  thee.  Lead  on  then  where  thy  bower 
O’ershades ;  for  these  mid  hours,  till  evening  rise, 

I  have  at  will.  So  to  the  sylvan  lodge 

They  came,  that  like  Pomona’s  arbour  smiled,2 

With  flowerets  decked,  and  fragrant  smells.  But  Eve, 

Undecked  save  with  herself,  more  lovely  fair 

Than  wood-nymph,  or  the  fairest  goddess  feigned 

Of  three  that  in  Mount  Ida  naked  strove,3 

Stood  to  entertain  her  guest  from  heaven ;  no  veil 

She  needed,  virtue  proof ;  no  thought  infirm 

Altered  her  cheek.  On  whom  the  angel  “  Hail !  ” 

Bestowed,  the  holy  salutation  used 

Long  after  to  blest  Mary,  second  Eve. 

Hail,  mother  of  mankind,  whose  fruitful  womb 
Shall  fill  the  world  more  numerous  with  thy  sons, 
Than  with  these  various  fruits  the  trees  of  God 
Have  heaped  this  table.  Raised  of  grassy  turf 
Their  table  was,  and  mossy  seats  had  round, 

And  on  her  ample  square  from  side  to  side, 

All  autumn  piled,  though  spring  and  autumn  here 
Danced  hand  in  hand.  A  while  discourse  they  hold, 
No  fear  lest  dinner  cool;  when  thus  began 


Angelic  Virtue.  The  Virtues  were  an  order  of  their  own — high  in  rank  in  the  celestial  hierarchy. 

*  Like  Pomona's  arbour  smiled. — Pomona  was  the  goddess  of  fruit  trees. 

*  Of  three  that  in  Mount  Ida  naked  strove. — Juno,  Minerva,  and  Venus  thus  appealed  to  the  judgment  of  Paris. 


Book  V.— 897-432]  PARADISE  LOST.  121 

Our  author :  Heavenly  stranger,  please  to  taste 
These  bounties,  which  our  Nourish er,  from  whom 
All  perfect  good,  unmeasured  out,  descends, 

To  us  for  food  and  for  delight  hath  caused 
The  Earth  to  yield ;  unsavoury  food  perhaps 
To  spiritual  natures ;  only  this  I  know, 

That  one  celestial  Father  gives  to  all. 

To  whom  the  Angel :  Therefore  what  He  gives — • 

Whose  praise  be  ever  sung — to  man  in  part 
Spiritual,  may  of  purest  spirits  be  found 
No  uifgrateful  food  :  and  food  alike  those  pure 
Intelligential  substances  require, 

As  doth  your  rational ;  and  both  contain 

Within  them  every  lower  faculty 

Of  sense,  whereby  they  hear,  see,  smell,  touch,  taste, 

Tasting,  concoct,  digest,  assimilate, 

And  corporeal  to  incorporeal  turn. 

For  know,  whatever  was  created  needs 
To  be  sustained  and  fed :  of  elements 
The  grosser  feeds  the  purer,  earth  the  sea, 

Earth  and  the  sea  feed  air,  the  air  those  fires 
Ethereal,  and  as  lowest,  first  the  moon ; 

Whence  in  her  visage  round  those  spots, 

Vapours  not  yet  into  her  substance  turned. 

Nor  doth  the  moon  no  nourishment  exhale 
From  her  moist  continent  to  higher  orbs. 

The  sun,  that  light  imparts  to  all,  receives 

From  all  his  alimental  recompense 

In  humid  exhalations,  and  at  even 

Sups  with  the  ocean.  Though  in  Heaven  the  trees 

Of  life  ambrosial  fruitage  bear,  and  vines 

Yield  nectar ;  though  from  off  the  boughs  each  morn, 

We  brush  mellifluous  dews,  and  find  the  ground 
Covered  with  pearly  grain  ;  yet  God  hath  here 
Varied  his  bounty  so  with  new  delights, 

As  may  compare  with  Heaven ;  and  to  taste 


122 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  V.— 433-465 


Think  not  I  shall  he  nice.  So  down  they  sat, 

And  to  their  viands  fell;  nor  seemingly 
The  Angel,  nor  in  mist — the  common  gloss 
Of  theologians — hut  with  keen  despatch 
Of  real  hunger1  and  concoctive  heat 
To  transubstantiate :  what  redounds,  transpires 
Through  spirits  with  ease ;  nor  wonder,  if  by  fire 
Of  sooty  coal  the  empiric  alchymist 
Can  turn,  and  holds  it  possible  to  turn, 

Metals  of  drossiest  ore  to  perfect  gold, 

As  from  the  mine.  Meanwhile  at  table  Eve 
Ministered  naked,  and  their  flowing  cups 
With  pleasant  liquors  crowned.  0  innocence, 

Deserving  Paradise  !  if  ever,  then, 

Then2  had  the  sons  of  God  excuse  to  have  been 
Enamoured  at  that  sight ;  but  in  those  hearts 
Love  unlibidinous  reigned,  nor  jealousy 
Was  understood,  the  injured  lovers  hell. 

Thus  when  with  meats  and  drinks  they  had  sufficed, 
Not  burdened  nature,  sudden  mind  arose 
In  Adam  not  to  let  the  occasion  pass, 

Given  him  by  this  great  conference,  to  know 
Of  things  above  his  world,  and  of  their  being 
Who  dwell  in  heaven,  whose  excellence  he  saw 
Transcend  his  own  so  far :  whose  radiant  forms, 

Divine  effulgence,  whose  high  power,  so  far 
Exceeded  human :  and  his  wary  speech 
Thus  to  the  empyreal  minister  he  framed : 

Inhabitant  with  God,  now  know  I  well 
Thy  favour,  in  this  honour  done  to  man  ; 

Under  whose  lowly  roof  thou  hast  vouchsafed 
To  enter,  and  these  earthly  fruits  to  taste, 

Food  not  of  Angels,  yet  accepted  so, 


1  With  keen  despatch  of  real  hunger. — This  seems  a  confounding  of  spirit  with  matter.  But  Milton  adheres  strictly 
to  the  sacred  text,  and  there  was  possibly  more  reality  under  such  phenomena  than  is  dreamt  of  in  our  philosophy. 
a  If  ever,  then ,  then. — If  the  time  was  ever,  it  was  then. 


. 

. 


. 


* 


% 


22 


To  whom  the  winged  Hierarch  replied: 
O  Adam,  one  Almighty  is,  from  whom 
All  things  proceed. 


Boole  V.,  lines  468 — 470. 


Book  V.— 466-501] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


123 


As  that  more  willingly  thou  couldst  not  seem 
At  heaven’s  high  feasts  to  have  fed:  yet  what  compare 
To  whom  the  winged  Hierarch  replied : 

0  Adam,  one  Almighty  is,  from  whom 
All  things  proceed,  and  up  to  Him  return, 

If  not  depraved  from  good,  created  all 
Such  to  perfection,  one  first  matter  all, 

Endued  with  various  forms,  various  degrees 
Of  substance,  and,  in  things  that  live,  of  life ; 

But  more  refined,  more  spirituous,  and  pure, 

As  nearer  to  Him  placed,  or  nearer  tending 
Each  in  their  several  active  spheres  assigned, 

Till  body  up  to  spirit  work,  in  hounds 
Proportioned  to  each  kind.  So  from  the  root 
Springs  lighter  the  green  stalk,  from  thence  the  leaves 
More  aery,  last  the  bright  consummate  flower 
Spirits  odorous  breathes  :  flownrs  and  their  fruit, 

Man’s  nourishment,  by  gradual  scale  sublimed, 

To  vital  spirits  aspire,  to  animal, 

To  intellectual ;  give  both  life  and  sense, 

Fancy  and  understanding  ;  whence  the  soul 
Reason  receives,  and  reason  is  her  being, 

Discursive,  or  intuitive ;  discourse 
If  oftest  yours,  the  latter  most  is  ours, 

Differing  but  in  degree,  of  kind  the  same. 

Wonder  not,  then,  what  God  for  you  saw  good 
If  I  refuse  not,  but  convert,  as  you, 

To  proper  substance.  Time  may  come  when  men 
With  angels  may  participate,  and  find 
No  inconvenient  diet,  nor  too  light  fare ; 

And  from  these  corporeal  nutriments,  perhaps, 

Your  bodies  may  at  last  turn  all  to  spirit, 

Improved  by  tract  of  time,  and  winged,  ascend 
Ethereal,  as  we;  or  may,  at  choice, 

Here  or  in  heavenly  paradises  dwell ; 

If  ye  be  found  obedient,  and  retain 


124 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  V.—  502-537 


Unalterably  firm,  His  love  entire, 

Whose  progeny  you  are.  Meanwhile  enjoy 
Your  fill  what  happiness  this  happy  state 
Can  comprehend,  incapable  of  more. 

To  whom  the  patriarch  of  mankind  replied  : 

Oh,  favourable  spirit,  propitious  guest, 

Well  hast  thou  taught  the  way  that  might  direct 
Our  knowledge,  and  the  scale  of  nature  set 
From  centre  to  circumference ;  whereon, 

In  contemplation  of  created  things, 

By  steps  we  may  ascend  to  God.  But  say, 

What  meant  that  caution  joined,  If  ye  be  found 
Obedient?  Can  we  want  obedience  then 
To  Him,  or  possibly  His  love  desert, 

Who  formed  us  from  the  dust,  and  placed  us  here 
Full  to  the  utmost  measure  of  what  bliss 
Human  desires  can  seek  or  apprehend  ? 

To  whom  the  Angel  :  Son  of  Heaven  and  Earth, 
Attend :  that  thou  art  happy,  owe  to  God ; 

That  thou  continuest  such,  owe  to  thyself, 

That,  is  to  thy  obedience ;  therein  stand. 

This  was  that  caution  given  thee ;  be  advised. 

God  made  thee  perfect,  not  immutable ; 

And  good  he  made  thee ;  but  to  persevere 
He  left  it  in  thy  power ;  ordained  thy  will 
By  nature  free,  not  over-ruled  by  fate 
Inextricable,  or  strict  necessity. 

Our  voluntary  service  he  requires, 

Not  our  necessitated  ;  such  with  him 
Finds  no  acceptance,  nor  can  find ;  for  how 
Can  hearts  not  free  be  tried  whether  they  serve 
Willing  or  no,  who  will  but  what  they  must 
By  destiny,  and  can  no  other  choose? 

Myself,  and  all  the  Angelic  host  that  stand 
In  sight  of  God,  enthroned,  our  happy  state 
Hold,  as  you  yours,  while  obedience  holds ; 


Book  V.— 538-573] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


125 


On  other  surety  none.  Freely  we  serve, 

Because  we  freely  love,  as  in  our  will 
To  love  or  not ;  in  this  we  stand  or  fall. 

And  some  are  fallen,  to  disobedience  fallen, 

And  so  from  Heaven  to  deepest  Hell — oh,  fall 
From  what  high  state  of  bliss  into  what  woe ! 

To  whom  our  great  progenitor :  Thy  words 
Attentive,  and  with  more  delighted  ear, 

Divine  instructor,  I  have  heard,  than  when 
Cherubic  songs  by  night  from  neighbouring  hills 
Aerial  music  send :  nor  knew  I  not 
To  he  both  will  and  deed  created  free. 

Yet  that  we  never  shall  forget  to  love 

Our  Maker,  and  obey  him  whose  command 

Single  is  yet  so  just,  my  constant  thoughts 

Assured  me,  and  still  assure ;  though  what  thou  tell’st 

Hath  passed  in  heaven,  some  doubt  within  me  move, 

But  more  desire  to  hear,  if  thou  consent, 

The  full  relation,  which  must  needs  he  strange, 

Worthy  of  sacred  silence  to  be  heard ; 

And  we  have  yet  large  day,  for  scarce  the  sun 
Hath  finished  half  his  journey,  and  scarce  begins 
His  other  half  in  the  great  zone  of  heaven. 

Thus  Adam  made  request ;  and  Raphael, 

After  short  pause  assenting,  thus  began : 

High  matter  thou  enjoinest  me,  oh,  prime  of  men. 
Sad  task  and  hard :  for  how  shall  I  relate 
To  human  sense  the  invisible  exploits 
Of  warring  spirits?  how,  without  remorse, 

The  ruin  of  so  many,  glorious  once 

And  perfect  while  they  stood  ?  how  last  unfold 

The  secrets  of  another  world,  perhaps 

Not  lawful  to  reveal?  Yet  for  thy  good 

This  is  dispensed ;  and  what  surmounts  the  reach 

Of  human  sense,  I  shall  delineate  so, 

By  likening  spiritual  to  corporal  forms, 


126 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  V.— 574  609 


As  may  express  them  best;  though  what  if  earth 
Be  but  the  shadow  of  heaven,  and  things  therein 
Each  to  other  like,  more  than  on  earth  is  thought? 

As  yet  this  world  was  not,  and  Chaos  wild 
Reigned  where  these  heavens  now  roll,  where  earth  now  rests 

Upon  her  centre  poised;  when  on  a  day _ 

For  time,  though  in  eternity,  applied 

To  motion,  measures  all  things  durable 

By  present,  past,  and  future — on  such  day 

As  heaven’s  great  year  brings  forth,  the  empyreal  host 

Of  Angels,  by  impereal  summons  called, 

Innumerable  before  the  Almighty’s  throne 
Forthwith,  from  all  the  ends  of  heaven,  appeared 
Under  their  Hierarchs  in  orders  bright. 

Ten  thousand  thousand  ensigns  high  advanced, 

Standards  and  gonfalons  ’twixt  van  and  rear 
Stream  in  the  air,  and  for  distinction  serve 
Of  Hierarchies,  of  Orders  and  Degrees; 

Or  in  their  glittering  tissues  hear  imblazed 
Holy  memorials,  acts  of  zeal  and  love 
Recorded  eminent.  Thus  when  in  orbs 
Of  circuit  inexpressible  they  stood, 

Orb  within  orb,  the  Father  infinite, 

By  whom  in  bliss  embosom d  sat  the  Son, 

Amidst,  as  from  a  flaming  mount,  whose  top 
Brightness  had  made  invisible,  thus  spake: 

Hear,  all  ye  Angels,  progeny  of  light, 

Thrones,  Dominations,  Princedoms,  Virtues,  Powers  ; 

Hear  my  decree,  which  unrevoked  shall  stand. 

This  day  I  have  begot  whom  I  declare 
My  only  Son,  and  on  this  holy  hill 
Him  have  anointed,  wrhom  ye  now  behold 
At  my  right  hand  ;  your  head  I  Him  appoint ; 

And  by  myself  have  sworn,  to  Him  shall  how 
All  knees  in  heaven,  and  shall  confess  him  Lord : 

Under  his  great  vicegerent  reign  abide 


Book  V.— 610-648] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


12 


United,  as  one  individual  soul, 

For  ever  happy.  Him  who  disobeys, 

Me  disobeys,  breaks  union ;  and  that  day, 

Cast  out  from  God  and  blessed  vision,  falls 
Into  utter  darkness,  deep  engulfed,  his  place 
Ordained  without  redemption,  without  end. 

So  spake  the  Omnipotent,  and  with  his  words 
All  seemed  well  pleased — all  seemed,  hut  were  not  all. 
That  day,  as  other  solemn  days,  they  spent 
In  song  and  dance  about  the  sacred  hill ; 

Mystical  dance,  which  yonder  starry  sphere 
Of  planets,  and  of  fixed,  in  all  her  wheels 
Eesembles  nearest,  mazes  intricate, 

Eccentric,  intervolved,  yet  regular 

Then  most,  when  most  irregular  they  seem  ; 

And  in  their  motions  harmony  divine 

So  smoothes  her  charming  tones,  that  God’s  own  ear 

Listens  delighted.  Evening  now  approached — 

For  we  have  also  our  evening  and  our  morn, 

We  ours  for  change  delectable  not  need — 

Forthwith  from  dance  to  sweet  repast  they  turn 
Desirous.  All  in  circles  as  they  stood, 

Tables  are  set,  and  on  a  sudden  piled 
With  angels’  food ;  and  rubied  nectar  flows 
In  pearl,  in  diamond,  and  massy  gold, 

Fruit  of  delicious  vines,  the  growth  of  heaven. 

On  flowers  reposed,  and  with  fresh  flowerets  crowned, 
They  eat,  they  drink ;  and  in  communion  sweet 
Quaff  immortality  and  joy,  secure 
Of  surfeit,1  where  full  measure  only  hounds 
Excess,  before  the  all-bounteous  King,  who  showered 
With  copious  hand,  rejoicing  in  their  joy. 

Kow  when  ambrosial  night  with  clouds  exhaled 
From  that  high  mount  of  God,  whence  light  and  shade 


1  Secure  of  surfeit. — Secure  against  it. 


128 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  V.— (544-679 


Spring  both,  the  face  of  brightest  heaven  had  changed 
To  grateful  twilight, — for  night  comes  not  there 
In  darker  veil, — and  roseate  dews  disposed 
All  but  the  unsleeping  eyes  of  God  to  rest  ; 

Wide  over  all  the  plain,  and  wider  far 

Than  all  this  globous  earth  in  plain  outspread, — 

Such  are  the  courts  of  God, — the  angelic  throng, 

Dispersed  in  bands  and  files,  their  camp  extend 
By  living  streams  among  the  trees  of  life, 

Pavilions  numberless,  and  sudden  reared, 

Celestial  tabernacles,  where  they  slept 

Fanned  with  cool  winds — save  those,  who,  in  their  course, 

Melodious  hymns  about  the  sovereign  throne 

Alternate  all  night  long.  But  not  so  waked 

Satan — so  call  him  now,  his  former  name 

Is  heard  no  more  in  heaven.  He  of  the  first, 

If  not  the  first  Archangel,  great  in  power, 

In  favour  and  pre-eminence,  yet  fraught 

With  envy  against  the  Son  of  God,  that  day 

Honoured  by  his  great  Father,  and  proclaimed 

Messiah,  king  anointed,  could  not  bear 

Through  pride  that  sight,  and  thought  himself  impaired. 

Deep  malice  thence  conceiving  and  disdain, 

Soon  as  midnight  brought  on  the  dusky  hour 
Friendliest  to  sleep  and  silence,  he  resolved 
With  all  his  legions  to  dislodge,  and  leave 
Unworshipped,  unobeyed,  the  throne  supreme, 

Contemptuous :  and  his  next  subordinate 
Awakening,  thus  to  him  in  secret  spake : 

Sleepest  thou,  companion  dear?  What  sleep  can  close 
Thy  eye-lids?  and  rememberest  what  decree 
Of  yesterday,  so  late  hath  passed  the  lips 
Of  heaven’s  Almighty  ?  Thou  to  me  thy  thoughts 
Was  wont,  I  mine  to  thee  was  wont  to  impart ; 

Both  waking  we  were  one  ;  how  then  can  now 
Thy  sleep  dissent?  New  laws  thou  seest  imposed; 


Book  V.— 680-715] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


129 


New  laws  from  Him  who  reigns,  new  minds  may  raise 
In  ns  who  serve,  new  counsels,  to  debate 
What  doubtful  may  ensue — more  in  this  place 
To  utter  is  not  safe.  Assemble  thou, 

Of  all  those  myriads  which  we  lead,  the  chief; 

Tell  them  that  by  command,  ere  yet  dim  night 
Her  shadowy  clouds  withdraws,  I  am  to  haste, 

And  all  who  under  me  their  banners  wave, 

Homeward,  with  flying  march,  where  w^e  possess 
The  quarters  of  the  North ;  there  to  prepare 
Fit  entertainment  to  receive  our  kins:. 

The  great  Messiah,  and  his  new  commands, 

Who  speedily  through  all  the  Hierarchies 
Intends  to  pass  triumphant,  and  give  laws. 

So  spake  the  false  Archangel,  and  infused 
Bad  influence  into  the  unwary  breast 
Of  his  associate.  He  together  calls, 

Or  several  one  by  one,  the  regent  powers, 

Under  him  regent ;  tells,  as  he  was  taught, 

That  the  Most  High  commanding,  now  ere  night, 

Now  ere  dim  night  had  disencumbered  heaven, 

The  great  hierarchal  standard  was  to  move ; 

Tells  the  suggested  cause,  and  casts  between 
Ambiguous  words  and  jealousies,  to  sound 
Or  taint  integrity.  But  all  obeyed 
The  wonted  signal  and  superior  voice 
Of  their  great  potentate ;  for  great  indeed 
His  name,  and  high  was  his  degree  in  heaven. 

His  countenance,  as  the  morning  star  that  guides 
The  starry  flock,  allured  them,  and  with  lies 
Drew  after  him  the  third  part  of  heaven’s-  host. 
Meanwhile  the  eternal  eye,  whose  sight  discerns 
Abstrusest  thoughts,  from  forth  his  holy  mount, 

And  from  within  the  golden  lamps  that  burn 
Nightly  before  him,  saw  without  their  light 
Rebellion  rising;  saw  in  whom,  how  spread 


PARADISE  LOST. 


iao 

Anions:  the  sons  of  morn,  what  multitudes 

o 

Were  banded  to  oppose  his  high  decree ; 

And,  smiling,  to  his  only  Son  thus  said : 

Son,  thou  in  whom  my  glory  I  behold 
In  full  resplendence,  heir  of  all  my  might, 

Nearly  it  now  concerns  us  to  he  sure 
Of  our  omnipotence,  and  with  what  arms 
We  mean  to  hold  what  anciently  we  claim 
Of  deity  or  empire.  Such  a  foe 
Is  rising,  who  intends  to  erect  his  throne 
Equal  to  ours,  throughout  the  spacious  North  ; 

Nor  so  content,  hath  in  his  thought  to  try 
In  battle,  what  our  power  is,  or  our  right. 

Let  us  advise,  and  to  this  hazard  draw 
With  speed  what  force  is  left,  and  all  employ 
In  our  defence  ;  lest  unawares  we  lose 
This  our  high  place,  our  sanctuary,  our  hill. 

To  whom  the  Son,  with  calm  aspect  and  clear, 
Lightning  divine,  ineffable,  serene, 

Made  answer:  Mighty  Father,  thou  thy  foes 
Justly  hast  in  derision,  and,  secure, 

Laugh’st  at  their  vain  designs  and  tumults  vain, 
Matter  to  me  of  glory,  whom  their  hate 
Illustrates,  when  they  see  all  regal  power 
Given  me  to  quell  their  pride,  and  in  event 
Know  whether  I  be  dextrous  to  subdue 
Thy  rebels,  or  he  found  the  worst  in  heaven. 

So  spake  the  Son  :  hut  Satan,  with  his  powers, 
Far  was  advanced  on  winged  speed;  a  host 
Innumerable  as  the  stars  of  night, 

Or  stars  of  morning  dewdrops  which  the  sun 
Impearls  on  every  leaf  and  every  flower. 

Regions  they  passed,  the  mighty  Regencies 
Of  Seraphim,  and  Potentates,  and  Thrones, 

In  their  triple  degrees — regions,  to  which 
All  thy  dominion,  Adam,  is  no  more 


Book  V.— 752-787] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


131 


Than  what  this  garden  is  to  all  the  earth, 

And  all  the  sea,  from  one  entire  globose 
Stretched  into  longitude — which  having  passed, 

At  length  into  the  limits  of  the  North 
They  came ;  and  Satan  to  his  royal  seat, 

High  on  a  hill,  far  blazing,  as  a  mount 
Raised  on  a  mount,  with  pyramids  and  towers 
From  diamond  quarries  hewn,  and  rocks  of  gold, 

The  palace  of  great  Lucifer — so  call 
That  structure  in  the  dialect  of  men 
Interpreted — which  not  long  after,  he, 

Affecting  all  equality  with  God, 

In  imitation  of  that  mount  whereon 
Messiah  wras  declared  in  sight  of  heaven, 

The  Mountain  of  the  Congregation  called. 

For  hither  he  assembled  all  his  train, 

Pretending  so  commanded  to  consult 
About  the  great  reception  of  their  king, 

Thither  to  come  ;  and  with  calumnious  art 
Of  counterfeited  truth  thus  held  their  ears. 

Thrones,  Dominations,  Princedoms,  Virtues,  Powers  ; 
If  these  magnific  titles  yet  remain 
Not  merely  titular,  since  by  decree 
Another  now  hath  to  himself  engrossed 
All  power,  and  us  eclipsed,  under  the  name 
Of  King  anointed,  for  whom  all  this  haste 
Of  midnight  march,  and  hurried  meeting  here, 

This  only  to  consult  how  we  may  best, 

With  what  may  be  devised  of  honours  new, 

Receive  him  coming  to  receive  from  us 
Knee-tribute  yet  unpaid,  prostration  vile ! 

Too  much  to  one,  but  double  how  endured 
To  one  and  to  his  image  now  proclaimed  ? 

But  what  if  better  counsels  might  erect 

Our  minds  and  teach  us  to  cast  off  this  yoke? 

Will  ye  submit  your  necks  and  choose  to  bend 


132 


CAKADISE  LOST. 


[Book  V.  — 788-823 


The  supple  knee?  Ye  will  not,  if  I  trust 
To  know  ye  right,  or  if  ye  know  yourselves 
Natives  and  sons  of  heaven,  possessed  before 
By  none:  and  if  not  equal  all,  yet  free, 

Equally  free  ;  for  orders  and  degrees 
Jar  not  with  liberty,  but  wrell  consist. 

Who  can  in  reason,  then,  or  right,  assume 

Monarchy  over  such  as  live  by  right 

His  equals?  If  in  power  and  splendour  less 

In  freedom  equal?  Or  can  introduce 

Law  and  edict  on  us,  who  without  law 

Err  not  ?  much  less  for  this  to  be  our  Lord, 

And  look  for  adoration,  to  the  abuse 

Of  those  imperial  titles,  which  assert 

Our  being  ordained  to  govern,  not  to  serve. 

Thus  far  his  hold  discourse  without  control 
Had  audience :  when  from  among  the  seraphim 
Ahdiel,  than  whom  none  with  more  zeal  adored 
The  Deity,  and  divine  commands  obeyed, 

Stood  up,  and  in  a  flame  of  zeal  severe 
The  current  of  his  fury  thus  opposed : 

Oh,  argument  blasphemous,  false,  and  proud ! 
Words  which  no  ear  ever  to  hear  in  Heaven 
Expected,  least  of  all  from  thee,  ingrate, 

In  place  thyself  so  high  above  thy  peers. 

Canst  thou  w7ith  impious  obloquy  condemn 
The  just  decree  of  God,  pronounced  and  sworn 
That  to  his  only  Son,  by  right  endued 
With  regal  sceptre,  every  soul  in  heaven 
Shall  bend  the  knee,  and  in  that  honour  due 
Confess  him  rightful  king?  Unjust,  thou  say’st, 

I  latly  unjust,  to  bind  with  laws  the  free, 

And  equal  over  equals  to  let  reign, 

One  over  all  with  unsucceeded  power. 

Shalt  thou  give  law  to  God?  Shalt  thou  dispute 
With  Him  the  points  of  liberty,  who  made 


Book  V.— 824-859] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


133 


Thee  what  thou  art,  and  formed  the  Powers  of  heaven 
Such  as  he  pleased,  and  circumscribed  their  being  ? 

Yet  by  experience  taught,  we  know  how  good, 

And  of  our  good  and  of  our  dignity 
How  provident  he  is  ;  how  far  from  thought 
To  make  us  less,  bent  rather  to  exalt 
Our  happy  state,  under  one  head  more  near 
United.  But  to  grant  it  thee  unjust, 

That  equal  over  equals  monarch  reign : 

Thyself,  though  great  and  glorious,  dost  thou  count, 

Or  all  angelic  nature  joined  in  one, 

Equal  to  Him  begotten  Son,  by  whom 
As  by  his  word,  the  mighty  Father  made 
All  things,  even  thee ;  and  all  the  Spirits  of  heaven 
By  him  created  in  their  bright  degrees, 

Crowned  them  with  glory,  and  to  their  glory  named 
Thrones,  Dominations,  Princedoms,  Virtues,  Powers, 

Essential  Powers ;  nor  by  his  reign  obscured, 

But  more  illustrious  made,  since  He  the  head, 

One  of  our  number  thus  reduced  becomes, 

His  laws  our  laws,  all  honour  to  him  done 
Returns  our  own.  Cease,  then,  this  impious  rage, 

And  tempt  not  these  :  but  hasten  to  appease 
The  incensed  Father  and  the  incensed  Son, 

While  pardon  may  be  found  in  time  besought. 

So  spake  the  fervent  Angel  ;  but  his  zeal 
None  seconded,  as  out  of  season  judged, 

Or  singular  and  rash ;  whereat  rejoiced 

The  Apostate,  and,  more  haughty,  thus  replied  : 

.  That  we  were  formed  then  say’st  thou,  and  the  work 
Of  secondary  hands,  by  task  transferred 
From  Father  to  his  Son  ?  strange  point  and  new  ! 
Doctrine  which  we  would  know  whence  learned.  Who  saw 
When  this  creation  was?  Rememberest  thou 
Thy  making,  while  the  Maker  gave  thee  being? 

We  know  no  time  when  we  were  not  as  now ; 


134 


FARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  V.— 860  89 


Know  none  before  ns,  self-begot,  self-raised 
By  our  own  quickening  power,  when  fatal  course 
Had  circled  his  full  orb,  the  birth  mature 
Of  this  our  native  Heaven,  ethereal  sons. 

Our  puissance  is  our  own :  our  own  right  hand 
Shall  teach  us  highest  deeds,  by  proof  to  try 
Who  is  our  equal.  Then  thou  shalt  behold 
Whether  by  supplication  we  intend 
Address,  and  to  begirt  the  Almighty  throne 
Beseeching  or  besieging.  This  report, 

These  tidings  carry  to  the  anointed  King ; 

And  fly,  ere  evil  intercept  thy  flight. 

He  said ;  and,  as  the  sound  of  waters  deep, 
Hoarse  murmur  echoed  to  his  words  applause 
Through  the  infinite  host :  nor  less  for  that 
The  flaming  seraph,  fearless,  though  alone, 
Encompassed  round  with  foes,  thus  answered  bold : 

0  alienate  from  God,  0  spirit  accursed, 
Forsaken  of  all  good  !  I  see  thy  fall 
Determined,  and  thy  hapless  crew  involved 
In  this  perfidious  fraud,  contagion  spread 
Both  of  thy  crime  and  punishment.  Henceforth 
Ko  more  be  troubled  how  to  quit  the  }roke 
Of  God’s  Messiah.  Those  indulgent  laws 
Will  not  be  now  vouchsafed ;  other  decrees 
Against  thee  are  gone  forth  without  recall  ; 

That  golden  sceptre  which  thou  didst  reject 
Is  now  an  iron  rod  to  bruise  and  break 
Thy  disobedience.  Well  thou  didst  advise ; 

Yet  not  for  thy  advice  or  threats  I  fly 
These  wicked  tents  devoted,  lest  the  wrath 
Impendent,  raging  into  sudden  flame, 

Distinguish  not ;  for  soon  expect  to  feel 
His  thunder  on  thy  head,  devouring  fire. 

Then  who  created  thee  lamenting  learn, 

When  who  can  uncreate  thee  thou  shalt  know. 


Book  V.— 896-907] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


135 


So  spake  tlie  Seraph  Abdiel,  faithful  found 
Among  the  faithless,  faithful  only  he  ; 

Among  innumerable  false,  unmoved, 

Unshaken,  unseduced,  unterrified, 

His  loyalty  he  kept,  his  love,  his  zeal ; 

Nor  number  nor  example  with  him  wrought 
To  swerve  from  truth,  or  change  his  constant  mind, 
Though  single.  From  amidst  them  forth  he  passed, 
Long  way  through  hostile  scorn,  which  he  sustained 
Superior,  nor  of  violence  feared  aught ; 

And  with  retorted  scorn,  his  back  he  turned 
On  those  proud  towers  to  swift  destruction  doomed. 


BOOK  VI. 


Raphael  continues  to  relate  how  Michael  and  Gabriel  were  sent  forth  to  battle  against  Satan  and  his  angels.  The 
first  fight  described:  Satan  and  his  powers  retire  under  night:  he  calls  a  council;  invents  devilish  engines, 
which,  in  the  second  day’s  fight,  put  Michael  and  his  angels  to  some  disorder;  but  they  at  length  pulling  up 
mountains,  overwhelm  both  the  force  and  machines  of  Satan :  yet  the  tumult  not  so  ending,  God,  on  the  third 
day,  sends  Messiah  his  Son,  for  whom  he  had  reserved  the  glory  of  that  victory;  He,  in  the  power  of  his 
Father,  coming  to  the  place,  and  causing  all  his  legions  to  stand  still  on  either  side,  with  his  chariot  and 
thunder  driving  into  the  midst  of  his  enemies,  pursues  them,  unable  to  resist,  towards  the  wall  of  heaven; 
which  opening,  they  leap  down  with  horror  and  confusion  into  the  place  of  punishment  prepared  for  them 
in  the  deep:  Messiah  returns  with  triumph  to  his  Father. 

night  the  dreadless  angel  unpursued 
Through  heaven’s  wide  champain  held  his  way ;  till  Mor 
Waked  by  the  circling  hours,  with  rosy  hand 
Unbarred  the  gates  of  light.  There  is  a  cave 
Within  the  mount  of  God,  fast  by  his  throne, 

Where  light  and  darkness  in  perpetual  round 

Lodge  and  dislodge  by  turns,  which  makes  through  heaven 

Grateful  vicissitude,  like  day  and  night ; 

Light  issues  forth,  and  at  the  other  door 
Obsequious  darkness  enters,  till  her  hour 
To  veil  the  heaven,  though  darkness  there  might  well 
Seem  twilight  here ;  and  now  went  forth  the  Morn 
Such  as  in  highest  heaven,  arrayed  in  gold 
Empyreal;  from  before  her  vanished  Night, 

Shot  through  with  orient  beams ;  when  all  the  plain, 

Covered  with  thick  embattled  squadrons  bright, 

Chariots,  and  flaming  arms,  and  fiery  steeds, 

Reflecting  blaze  on  blaze  first  met  his  view : 

War  he  perceived,  war  in  product;1  and  found 
Already  known  what  he  for  news  had  thought 
To  have  reported :  gladly  then  he  mixed 
Among  those  friendly  powers,  who  him  received 
With  joy  and  acclamations  loud,  that  one, 

That  of  so  many  myriads  fallen,  yet  one 

1  War  in  product. — Imminent,  near. 


Book  VI.— 25-58] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


137 


Returned  not  lost.  On  to  the  sacred  hill 
They  led  him  high  applauded,  and  present 
Before  the  seat  supreme ;  from  whence  a  voice, 

From  ’midst  a  golden  cloud,  thus  mild  was  heard : 

Servant  of  God,  well  done  ;  well  hast  thou  fought 
The  better  fight,  who  single  hast  maintained 
Against  revolted  multitudes  the  cause 
Of  truth,  in  word  mightier  than  they  in  arms ; 

And  for  the  testimony  of  truth  hast  borne 
Universal  reproach,  far  worse  to  bear 
Than  violence ;  for  this  was  all  thy  care, 

To  stand  approved  in  sight  of  God,  though  worlds 
Judged  thee  perverse.  The  easier  conquest  now 
Remains  thee,  aided  by  this  host  of  friends, 

Back  on  thy  foes  more  glorious  to  return, 

Than  scorned  thou  didst  depart,  and  to  subdue 
By  force,  who  reason  for  their  law  refuse, 

Right  reason  for  their  law,  and  for  their  king 
Messiah,  who  by  right  of  merit  reigns. 

Go,  Michael,  of  celestial  armies  prince, 

And  thou  in  military  prowess  next, 

Gabriel,  lead  forth  to  battle  these  my  sons 
Invincible ;  lead  forth  my  armed  saints, 

By  thousands  and  by  millions  ranged  for  fight, 

Equal  in  number  to  that  godless  crew 
Rebellious ;  them  with  fire  and  hostile  arms 
Fearless  assault,  and,  to  the  brow  of  heaven 
Pursuing,  drive  them  out  from  God  and  bliss 
Into  their  place  of  punishment,  the  gulf 
Of  Tartarus,  which  ready  opens  wide 
His  fiery  chaos  to  receive  their  fall.1 

So  spake  the  Sovereign  Voice,  and  clouds  began 
To  darken  all  the  hill,  and  smoke  to  roll 
In  dusky  wreaths,  reluctant  flames,  the  sign 

1  To  receive  their  fall. — “  And  there  was  war  in  heaven :  Michael  and  his  angels  fought  against  the  Dragor- :  and  the 
Dragon  fought  and  his  angels.”  Rev.  xii.  7. 


138 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VI.— 59-94 


Of  wrath  awaked ;  nor  with  less  dread  the  loud 
Ethereal  trumpet  from  on  high  ’gaii  blow : 

At  which  command  the  powers  militant, 

That  stood  for  Heaven,  in  mighty  quadrate  joined 
Of  union  irresistible,  moved  on 
In  silence  their  bright  legions,  to  the  sound 
Of  instrumental  harmony,  that  breathed 
Heroic  ardour  to  adventurous  deeds 
Under  their  godlike  leaders,  in  the  cause 
Of  God  and  his  Messiah.  On  they  move 
Indissolubly  firm ;  nor  obvious  hill, 

Nor  straitening  vale,  nor  wood,  nor  stream,  divides 
Their  perfect  ranks ;  for  high  above  the  ground 
Their  march  was,  and  the  passive  air  upbore 
Their  nimble  tread.  As  when  the  total  kind 
Of  birds,  in  orderly  array  on  wing, 

Came,  summoned  over  Eden,  to  receive 
Their  names  of  thee ;  so  over  many  a  tract 
Of  heaven  they  marched,  and  many  a  province  wide, 
Tenfold  the  length  of  this  terrene.  At  last, 

Ear  in  the  horizon  to  the  North,  appeared 
From  skirt  to  skirt  a  fiery  region  stretched 
In  battailous  aspect;  and,  nearer  view, 

Bristled  with  upright  beams  innumerable 
Of  rigid  spears,  and  helmets  thronged,  and  shields 
Various,  with  boastful  argument  portrayed, 

The  handed  powers  of  Satan  hasting  on 
With  furious  expedition ;  for  they  weened 
That  self-same  day,  by  fight,  or  by  surprise, 

To  win  the  mount  of  God,  and  on  His  throne 
To  set  the  envier  of  his  state,  the  proud 
Aspirer;  hut  their  thoughts  proved  fond  and  vain 
In  the  mid-way.  Though  strange  to  us  it  seemed 
At  first,  that  Angel  should  with  Angel  war, 

And  in  fierce  hosting  meet,  who  wont  to  meet 
So  oft  in  festivals  of  joy  and  love 


Book  VI.— 95-128] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


139 


Unanimous,  as  sons  of  one  great  Sire, 

Hymning  tlie  Eternal  Father.  But  the  shout 
Of  battle  now  began,  and  rushing  sound 
Of  onset  ended  soon  each  milder  thought. 

High  in  the  midst,  exalted  as  a  god, 

The  Apostate  in  his  sun-bright  chariot  sat, 

Idol  of  majesty  divine,  enclosed 

With  flaming  cherubim,  and  golden  shields  ; 

Then  lighted  from  his  gorgeous  throne,  for  now 
’Twixt  host  and  host  hut  narrow  space  was  left, 

A  dreadful  interval,  and  front  to  front 
Presented  stood  in  terrible  array 
Of  hideous  length.  Before  the  cloudy  van, 

On  the  rough  edge  of  battle  ere  it  joined, 

Satan,  with  vast  and  haughty  strides  advanced, 

Came  towering,  armed  in  adamant  and  gold. 

Abdiel  that  sight  endured  not,  where  he  stood 
Among  the  mightiest,  bent  on  highest  deeds, 

And  thus  his  own  undaunted  heart  explores : 

0  Heaven !  that  such  resemblance  of  the  Highest 
Should  yet  remain,  where  faith  and  realty1 
Remain  not !  Wherefore  should  not  strength  and  might 
There  fail  where  virtue  fails?  or  weakest  prove 
Where  boldest,  though  to  sight  unconquerable? 

His  puissance,  trusting  in  the  Almighty’s  aid, 

I  mean  to  try,  whose  reason  I  have  tried 
Unsound  and  false.  Nor  is  it  aught  hut  just 
That  he,  who  in  debate  of  truth  hath  won, 

Should  win  in  arms,  in  both  disputes  alike 
Victor;  though  brutish  that  contest  and  foul, 

When  reason  hath  to  deal  with  force,  yet  so 
Most  reason  is  that  reason  overcome. 

So  pondering,  and  from  his  armed  peers 
Forth  stepping  opposite,  half-way  he  met 


1  Reality. — Realness. 


140 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VI.— 129-162 


His  daring  foe,  at  this  prevention  more 
Incensed,  and  thus  securely  him  defied:1 

Proud  art  thou  met  ?  Thy  hope  was  to  have  reached 
The  height  of  thy  aspiring  unopposed, 

The  throne  of  God  unguarded,  and  his  side 
Abandoned,  at  the  terror  of  thy  power 
Or  potent  tongue.  Fool!  not  to  think  how  vain 
Against  the  Omnipotent  to  rise  in  arms  ; 

Who  out  of  smallest  things,  could,  without  end, 

Have  raised  incessant  armies  to  defeat 
Thy  folly  ;  or  with  solitary  hand 
Reaching  beyond  all  limit,  at  one  blow, 

Unaided,  could  have  finished  thee,  and  whelmed 
Thy  legions  under  darkness.  But  thou  seest 
All  are  not  of  thy  train ;  there  he,  who  faith 
Prefer,  and  piety  to  God,  though  then 
To  thee  not  visible,  when  I  alone 
Seemed  in  thy  world  erroneous  to  dissent 
From  all;  my  sect  thou  seest.2  Now  learn  too  late 
How  few  sometimes  may  know,  when  thousands  err. 

Whom  the  grand  foe,  with  scornful  eye  askance, 

Thus  answered :  Ill  for  thee,  but  in  wished  hour 

Of  my  revenge,  first  sought  for,  thou  returnest 

From  flight  seditious  Angel !  to  receive 

Thy  merited  reward,  the  first  assay 

Of  this  right  hand  provoked,  since  first  that  tongue, 

Inspired  with  contradiction,  durst  oppose 

A  third  part  of  the  gods,  in  synod  met 

Their  deities  to  assert ;  who,  while  they  feel 

Vigour  divine  within  them,  can  allow 

Omnipotence  to  none.  But  well  thou  conTst 

Before  thy  fellows,  ambitious  to  win 

Irom  me  some  plume,  that  thy  success  may  showr 

Destruction  to  the  rest.  This  pause  between — 


-  Securely  him  defied. — Without  fear. 


2  My  sect  thou  seest. — Those  who  are  at  one  with  me. 


W(!Wi. 


This  greeting  ou  thy  impious  crest  receive. 

Book  V.,  line  188. 


Book  YI.— 163-198] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


141 


Unanswered  lest  thou  boast — to  let  thee  know, 

At  first  I  thought  that  liberty  and  heaven 
To  heavenly  souls  had  been  all  one  ;  hut  now 
I  see  that  most  through  sloth  had  rather  serve, 
Minist’ring  spirits,  trained  up  in  feast  and  song  : 
Such  hast  thou  armed,  the  minstrelsy  of  heaven, 
Servility  with  freedom  to  contend, 

As  both  their  deeds  compared  this  day  shall  prove. 

To  whom  in  brief  thus  Abdiel  stern  replied-: 
Apostate  !  still  thou  err’st,  nor  end  wilt  find 
Of  erring,  from  the  path  of  truth  remote. 

Unjustly  thou  deprav’st  it  wdth  the  name 
Of  servitude,  to  serve  whom  God  ordains, 

Or  nature.  God  and  nature  hid  the  same, 

When  he  who  rules  is  worthiest,  and  excels 
Them  whom  he  governs.  This  is  servitude, 

To  serve  the  unwise,  or  him  who  hath  rebelled 
Against  his  worthier,  as  thine  now  serve  thee, 
Thyself  not  free,  hut  to  thyself  inthralled  ; 

Yet  lewdly  dar’st  our  minist’ring  upbraid. 

Ueign  thou  in  Hell,  thy  kingdom  ;  let  me  serve 
In  Heaven  God  ever-blest,  and  His  divine 
Behests  obey,  worthiest  to  he  obeyed. 

Yet  chains  in  hell,  not  realms,  expect :  meanwhile, 
From  me  returned,  as  erst  thou  saidst,  from  flight, 
This  greeting  on  thy  impious  crest  receive. 

So  saying,  a  noble  stroke  he  lifted  high, 

Which  hung  not,  but  so  swift  with  tempest  fell 
On  the  proud  crest  of  Satan,  that  no  sight, 

Nor  motion  of  swift  thought,  less  could  his  shield, 
Such  ruin  intercept.  Ten  paces  huge 
He  back  recoiled ;  the  tenth  on  bended  knee 
His  massy  spear  upstaid — as  if  on  earth 
Winds  under  ground,  or  waters  forcing  way, 

Sidelong  had  pushed  a  mountain  from  his  seat, 

Half  sunk  with  all  his  pines.  Amazement  seized 


142  PARADISE  LOST.  [Book  VI.— 199  282 

The  rebel  thrones,  but  greater  rage,  to  see 

Thus  foiled  their  mightiest ;  ours  joy  filled,  and  shout, 

Presage  of  victory,  and  fierce  desire 

Of  battle  ;  whereat  Michael  bid  sound 

The  archangle  trumpet.  Through  the  vast  of  Heaven 

It  sounded,  and  the  faithful  armies  rung 

Hosanna  to  the  Highest :  nor  stood  at  gaze 

The  adverse  legions,  nor  less  hideous  joined 

The  horrid  shock.  Now  storming  fury  rose, 

And  clamour,  such  as  heard  in  heaven  till  now 
Was  never ;  arms  on  armour  clashing  betrayed 
Horrible  discord,  and  the  madding  wheels 
Of  brazen  chariots  raged  ;  dire  was  the  noise 
Of  conflict ;  overhead  the  dismal  hiss 
Of  fiery  darts  in  flaming  volleys  flew, 

And  flying  vaulted  either  host  with  fire. 

So  under  fiery  cope  together  rushed 
Both  battles  main,1  with  ruinous  assault 
And  inextinguishable  rage.  All  heaven 
Resounded ;  and  had  earth  been  then,  all  earth 
Had  to  her  centre  shook.  What  wonder  ?  when 
Millions  of  fierce  encountering  angles  fought 
On  either  side,  the  least  of  whom  could  wield 
These  elements,  and  arm  him  with  the  force 
Of  all  their  regions.  How  much  more  of  power 
Army  against  army  numberless  to  raise 
Dreadful  combustion  warring,  and  disturb, 

Though  not  destroy,  their  happy  native  seat ; 

Had  not  the  Eternal  King  Omnipotent, 

From  his  strong  hold  of  heaven,  high  overruled 
And  limited  their  might  ;  though  numbered  such, 

As  each  divided  legion  might  have  seemed 
A  numerous  host,  in  strength  each  armed  hand 
A  legion  •  led  in  fight,  yet  leader  seemed 


1  Both  battles  main.—  The  mass  on  both  sides. 


Book  VI.— 233-268] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


14  Z 

Each  warrior,  single  as  in  chief,  expert 
When  to  advance,  or  stand,  or  turn  the  sway 
Of  battle,  open  when,  and  when  to  close 
The  ridges  of  grim  war.  No  thought  of  flight. 

None  of  retreat,  no  unbecoming  deed 
That  argued  fear;  each  on  himself  relied, 

As  only  in  his  arm  the  moment  lay 
Of  victory.  Deeds  of  eternal  fame 
Were  done,  hut  infinite  ;  for  wide  was  spread 
That  war,  and  various ;  sometimes  on  firm  ground 
A  standing  fight ;  then,  soaring  on  main  wing, 

Tormented  all  the  air  ;  all  air  seemed  then 
Conflicting  fire.  Long  time  in  even  scale 
The  battle  hung ;  till  Satan,  who  that  day 
Prodigious  pow'er  had  shown,  and  met  in  arms 
No  equal,  ranging  through  the  dire  attack 
Of  fighting  seraphim  confused,  at  length 
Saw  where  the  sword  of  Michael  smote,  and  felled 
Squadrons  at  once ;  with  huge  two-handed  sway 
Brandished  aloft,  the  horrid  edge  came  down 
Wide-wasting.  Such  destruction  to  withstand 
He  hasted,  and  opposed  the  rocky  orb 
Of  tenfold  adamant,  his  ample  shield, 

A  vast  circumference.  At  his  approach 
The  great  Archangel  from  his  warlike  toil 
Surceased,  and  glad,  as  hoping  here  to  end 
Intestine  war  in  heaven,  the  arch-foe  subdued, 

Or  captive  dragged  in  chains,  with  hostile  frown 
And  visage  all  inflamed,  first  thus  began : 

Author  of  evil  unknown  till  thy  revolt, 

Unnamed  in  heaven,  now  plenteous,  as  thou  seest 
These  acts  of  hateful  strife,  hateful  to  all, 

Though  heaviest,  by  just  measure,  on  thyself 
And  thy  adherents  ;  how  hast  thou  disturbed 
Heaven's  blessed  peace,  and  into  nature  brought 
Misery,  uncreated  till  the  crime 


144 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  V.— 269-301 


Of  thy  rebellion?  How  hast  thou  instilled 

Thy  malice  into  thousands,  once  upright 

And  faithful,  now  proved  false  ?  But  think  not  here 

To  trouble  holy  rest.  Heaven  casts  thee 

From  all  her  confines.  Heaven,  the  seat  of  bliss, 

Brooks  not  the  works  of  violence  and  war. 

Hence,  then,  and  evil  go  with  thee  along, 

Thy  offspring  to  the  place  of  evil,  Hell, 

Thou  and  thy  wicked  crew — there  mingle  broils, 

Ere  this  avenging  sword  begin  thy  doom, 

Or  some  more  sudden  vengeance,  winged  from  God, 
Precipitate  thee  with  augmented  pain. 

So  spake  the  prince  of  Angels ;  to  whom  thus 
The  Adversary  :  Nor  think  thou  with  wind 
Of  airy  threats  to  awe  whom  yet  with  deeds 
Thou  canst  not.  Hast  thou  turned  the  least  of  these 
To  flight,  or  if  to  fall,  but  that  they  rise 
Un vanquished,  easier  to  transact  with  me,1 
That  thou  sliouldst  hope,  imperious,  and  with  threats 
To  chase  me  hence?  Err  not3  that  so  shall  end 
The  strife  which  thou  call’st  evil,  hut  we  style 
The  strife  of  glory  ;  which  we  mean  to  win, 

Or  turn  this  Heaven  itself  into  the  Hell 
Thou  fahlest :  here,  however,  to  dwell  free, 

If  not  to  reign.  Meanwhile  thy  utmost  force, 

And  join  Him  named  Almighty  to  thy  aid. 

I  fly  not,  hut  have  sought  thee  far  and  nigh. 

They  ended  parle,3  and  both  addressed  for  fight 
Unspeakable ;  for  who,  though  with  the  tongue 
Of  angels,  can  relate,  or  to  what  things 
Liken  on  earth  conspicuous,  that  may  lift 
Human  imagination  to  such  height 
Of  godlike  power?  for  likest  gods  they  seemed, 


1  Easier  to,  &c. — Has  this  failure  against  ray  followers  led  thee  to  think  it  easier  to  conquer  me  ? 
1  Err  not. — Think  not,  deceive  not  thyself  by  thinking,  &c 
s  They  ended  parle. — Talk,  debate. 


. 


* 


' 


.  .  •  ■  ■  ■ 


Then  Satan  first  knew  pain, 
And  writhed  him  to  and  fro. 


Boole  VI.,  lines  327,  328, 


Book  VI.— 302-335] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


145 


Stood  they  or  moved,  in  stature,  motion,  arms, 

Fit  to  decide  the  empire  of  great  Heaven. 

Now  waved  their  fiery  swords,  and  in  the  air 
Made  horrid  circles :  two  broad  suns  their  shields 
Blazed  opposite,  while  Expectation  stood 
In  horror.  From  each  hand  with  speed  retired, 

Where  erst  was  thickest  fight,  the  angelic  throng, 

And  left  large  field,  unsafe  within  the  wind 
Of  such  commotion — such  as  to  set  forth 
Great  things  by  small,  if,  Nature’s  concord  broke, 

Among  the  constellations  war  were  sprung, 

Two  planets,  rushing  from  aspect  malign 

Of  fiercest  opposition,  in  mid  sky 

Should  combat,  and  their  jarring  spheres,  confound. 

Together  both,  with  next  to  almighty  arm 
Uplifted  imminent,  one  stroke  they  aimed 
That  might  determine,  and  not  need  repeat, 

As  not  of  power  at  once ;  nor  odds  appeared 
In  might  or  swift  prevention.  But  the  sword 
Of  Michael  from  the  armoury  of  God, 

Was  given  him  tempered  so,  that  neither  keen 
Nor  solid  might  resist  that  edge:  it  met 
The  sword  of  Satan,  with  steep  force  to  smite 
Descending,  and  in  half  cut  sheer ;  nor  stayed, 

But  with  swift  wheel  reverse,  deep  entering,  shared1 
All  his  right  side ;  then  Satan  first  knew  pain, 

And  writhed  him  to  and  fro  convolved ;  so  sore 
The  griding  sword2  with  discontinuous  wound3 
Passed  through  him.  But  the  ethereal  substance  closed, 

Not  long  divisible;  and  from  the  gash 
A  stream  of  nect’rous  humour  issuing  flowed, 

Sanguine,  such  as  celestial  spirits  may  bleed, 

And  all  his  armour  stained,  erewhile  so  bright. 

Forthwith,  on  all  sides,  to  his  aid  was  run 

1  Shared. — Ploughed  down.  3  Griding  sword. — Old  English  for  cutting,  severing. 

3  With  discontinuous  wound. — A  wound  severing  the  proper  continuity  of  parts. 


146  PARADISE  LOST.  [BOOK  VI.  P.3G-GG9 

By  angels  many  and  strong,  who  interposed 
Defence,  while  others  bore  him  on  their  shields 
Back  to  his  chariot,  where  it  stood  retired 
From  off  the  files  of  war.  There  they  him  laid 
Gnashing  for  anguish,  and  despite,  and  shame, 

To  find  himself  not  matchless,  and  his  pride 
Humbled  by  such  rebuke,  so  far  beneath 
His  confidence  to  equal  God  in  power.  ♦ 

Yet  soon  he  healed ;  for  spirits  that  live  throughout 
Vital  in  every  part,  not  as  frail  man 
In  entrails,  heart,  or  head,  liver  or  reins, 

Cannot  but  by  annihilating  die  ; 

Nor  in  their  liquid  texture  mortal  wound 
Receive,  no  more  than  can  the  fluid  air. 

All  heart  they  live,  all  head,  all  eye,  all  ear, 

All  intellect,  all  sense ;  and,  as  they  please, 

They  limb  themselves,  and  colour,  shape,  or  size, 

Assume,  as  likes  them  best,  condense  or  rare. 

Meanwhile,  in  other  parts,  like  deeds  deserved 

Memorial,  where  the  might  of  Gabriel  fought, 

* 

And  with  fierce  ensigns  pierced  the  deep  array 
Of  Moloch,  furious  king,  who  him  defied, 

And  at  his  chariot-wheels  to  drag  him  bound 
Threatened,  nor  from  the  Holy  One  of  heaven 
Refrained  his  tougue  blasphemous ;  but  anon, 

Down  cloven  to  the  waist,  with  shattered  arms, 

And  uncouth  pain,1  fled  bellowing.  On  each  wing, 

Uriel  and  Raphael,  his  vaunting  foe, 

Though  huge,  and  in  a  rock  of  diamond  armed, 

Vanquished  Adramelech  and  Asmadai, 

Two  potent  thrones,  that  to  be  less  than  gods 
Disdained,  but  meaner  thoughts  learned  in  their  flight 
Mangled  with  ghastly  wounds  through  plate  and  mail. 

Nor  stood  unmindful  Abdiel  to  annoy 


1  Uncouth  pain  - — Disfiguring,  strange. 


Book  VI.— 370-405] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


H7 


The  atheist  crew,  hut  with  redoubled  blow, 

Ariel,  and  Arioch,  and  the  violence 
Of  Rami  el,  scorched  and  blasted,  overthrew. 

I  might  relate  of  thousands,  and  their  names 
Eternise  here  on  Earth ;  but  those  elect 
Angels,  contented  with  their  fame  in  Heaven, 

Seek  not  the  praise  of  men ;  the  other  sort, 

In  might  though  wondrous,  and  in  acts  of  war, 

Nor  of  renown  less  eager,  yet  by  doom 
Cancelled  from  Heaven  and  sacred  memory, 

Nameless  in  dark  oblivion  let  them  dwell. 

Eor  strength  from  truth  divided,  and  from  just, 

Illaudable,  nought  merits  but  dispraise 
And  ignominy ;  yet  to  glory  aspires, 

Vain-glorious,  and  through  ignominy  seeks  fame; 

Therefore  eternal  silence  be  their  doom. 

And  now,  their  mightiest  quelled,  the  battle  swerved, 
With  many  an  inroad  gored  ;  deformed  rout 
Entered,  and  foul  disorder ;  all  the  ground 
With  shivered  armour  strown,  and  on  a  heap 
Chariot  and  charioteer  lay  overturned, 

And  fiery-foaming  steeds  ;  what  stood,  recoiled, 
O’er-wearied,  through  the  faint  Satanic  host, 

Defensive  scarce,  or  with  pale  fear  surprised, 

Then  first  with  fear  surprised,  and  sense  of  pain, 

Fled  ignominious,  to  such  evil  brought 
By  sin  of  disobedience ;  till  that  hour 
Not  liable  to  fear,  or  flight,  or  pain. 

Far  otherwise  the  inviolable  Saints, 

In  cubic  phalanx  firm  advanced  entire, 

Invulnerable,  impenetrably  armed. 

Such  high  advantages  their  innocence 

Gave  them  above  their  foes ;  not  to  have  sinned, 

Not  to  have  disobeyed;  in  fight  they  stood 

Unwearied,  unobnoxious  to  be  pained 

By  wound,  though  from  their  place  by  violence  moved. 


14  6 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VI.-40o-43cJ 


Now  Night  her  course  began,  and,  over  heaven 
Inducing  darkness,  grateful  truce1  imposed, 

And  silence  on  the  odious  din  of  war. 

Under  her  cloudy  covert  both  retired, 

Victor  and  vanquished.  On  the  foughten  field 
Michael  and  his  angels,  prevalent 
Encamping,  placed  in  guard  their  watches  round 
Cherubic  waving  fires  :  on  the  other  part, 

Satan  with  his  rebellious  disappeared, 

Ear  in  the  dark  dislodged ;  and,  void  of  rest, 

His  potentates  to  council  called  by  night, 

And  in  the  midst  thus  undismayed  began : 

Oh  now  in  danger  tried,  now  known  in  arms 
Not  to  be  overpowered,  companions  dear,  . 

Found  worthy  not  of  liberty  alone, 

Too  mean  pretence  !  but,  what  w7e  more  affect, 
Honour,  dominion,  glory,  and  renown  : 

Who  have  sustained  one  day,  in  doubtful  fight — - 
And  if  one  day,  why  not  eternal  days  ? — 

What  heaven’s  Lord  had  powerfulest  to  send 
Against  us  from  about  his  throne,  and  judged 
Sufficient  to  subdue  us  to  his  will, 

But  proves  not  so :  then  fallible,  it  seems, 

Of  future2  we  may  deem  him,  though,  till  now, 
Omniscient  thought.  True  is,3  less  firmly  armed, 

Some  disadvantage  we  endured,  and  pain, 

Till  now  not  known,  but,  known,  as  soon  contemned ; 
Since  now  we  find  this  our  empyreal  form 
Incapable  of  mortal  injury, 

Imperishable,  and,  though  pierced  with  wound, 

Soon  closing,  and  by  native  vigour  healed. 

Of  evil,  then,  so  small,  as  easy  think 
The  remedy.  Perhaps  more  valid  arms, 

Weapons  more  violent,  when  next  w7e  meet, 


*  Grateful  trvee. — Welcome  trace. 


4  Fallible  of  future. — Not  knowing  the  future. 


8  Trite  is. — True  it  is* 


Now  Niglit  her  course  began. 

Book  VI.,  line  406. 


On  the  foughten  field 
Michael  and  his  angels,  prevalent, 

Encamping,  placed  in  guard  their  watches  round. 

Booh  VI..  lines  410 — 412. 


Book  VI.— 440-475] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


149 


May  serve  to  better  us,  and  worse  our  foes, 

Or  equal  what  between  us  made  the  odds, 

In  nature  none.  If  other  hidden  cause 
Left  them  superior,  while  we  can  preserve 
Unhurt  our  minds,  and  understanding  sound, 

Due  search  and  consultation  will  disclose. 

He  sat ;  and  in  the  assembly  next  upstood 
Nisroch,  of  principalities  the  prime. 

As  one  he  stood  escaped  from  cruel  fight, 

Sore  toiled,  his  riven  arms  to  havoc  hewn, 

And,  cloudy  in  aspect,  thus  answering  spake  : 

Deliverer  from  new  Lords,  leader  to  free 
Enjoyment  of  our  rights  as  Gods  ;  yet  hard 
For  Gods,  and  too  unequal  work  we  find, 

Against  unequal  arms,  to  fight  in  pain, 

Against  unpained,  impassive  ;  from  which  evil 

Kuin  must  needs  ensue.  For  what  avails 

Valour  or  strength,  though  matchless,  quelled  with  pain 

Which  all  subdues,  and  makes  remiss  the  hands 

Of  mightiest  ?  Sense  of  pleasure  we  may  well 

Spare  out  of  life,  perhaps,  and  not  repine, 

But  live  content,  which  is  the  calmest  life  ; 

But  pain  is  perfect  misery,  the  worst 
Of  evils,  and,  excessive,  overturns 
All  patience.  He  who,  therefore,  can  invent 
With  what  more  forcible  we  may  offend 
Our  yet  unwounded  enemies,  or  arm 
Ourselves  with  like  defence,  to  me  deserves 
No  less  than  for  deliverance  what  we  owe. 

Whereto,  with  look  composed,  Satan  replied : 

Not  uninvented  that,  which  thou  aright 
Believest  so  main  to  our  success,  I  bring. 

Which  of  us  who  beholds  the  bright  surface 
Of  this  ethereous  mould  whereon  we  stand, 

This  continent  of  spacious  heaven,  adorned 

With  plant,  fruit,  flower  ambrosial,  gems,  and  gold  ; 


150 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VI.— 476-509 


Whose  eye  so  superficially  surveys 

These  things,  as  not  to  mind  from  whence  they  grow, 
Deep  under  ground,  materials  dark  and  crude, 

Of  spiritous  and  fiery  spume  ;  till  touched 
With  heaven’s  ray,  and  tempered,  they  shoot  forth 
So  beauteous,  opening  to  the  ambient  light? 

These,  in  their  dark  nativity,  the  deep 
Shall  yield  us,  pregnant  with  infernal  flame ; 

Which,  into  hollow1  engines,  long  and  round, 

Thick-rammed,  at  the  other  bore  with  touch  of  fire 

Dilated  and  infuriate,  shall  send  forth 

From  far,  with  thundering  noise,  among  our  foes, 

Such  implements  of  mischief,  as  shall  dash 
To  pieces,  and  o’erwhelm,  whatever  stands 
Adverse,  that  they  shall  fear  we  have  disarmed 
The  Thunderer  of  His  only  dreaded  bolt. 

Nor  long  shall  be  our  labour:  yet,  ere  dawn, 

Effect  shall  end  our  wish.  Meanwhile  revive ; 

Abandon  fear  ;  to  strength  and  counsel  joined 
Think  nothing  hard,  much  less  to  be  despaired. 

He  ended ;  and  his  words  their  drooping  cheer 
Enlightened,  and  their  languished  hope  revived : 

The  invention  all  admired,  and  each  how  he 
To  be  the  inventor  missed ;  so  easy  it  seemed 
Once  found,  which  yet  unfound  most  would  have  thought 
Impossible.  Yet,  haply,  of  thy  race, 

In  future  days,  if  malice  should  abound, 

Some  one,  intent  on  mischief,  or  inspired 
With  devilish  machination,  might  devise 
Like  instrument  to  plague  the  sons  of  men 
For  sin,  on  war  and  mutual  slaughter  bent. 

Forthwith  from  council  to  the  work  they  flew; 

None  arguing  stood;  innumerable  hands 
Were  ready  ;  in  a  moment  up  they  turned 


1  Which ,  into  hollow ,  &c. — That  which  in,  &c. 


Book  VI. —510-543] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


151 


Wide  the  celestial  soil,  and  saw  beneath 
The  originals  of  nature  in  their  crude 
Conception ;  sulphurous  and  nitrous  foam 
They  found ;  they  mingled,  and,  with  subtle  art. 
Concocted  and  adusted,1  they  reduced 
To  blackest  grain,  and  into  store  conveyed. 

Part  hidden  veins  digged  up  (nor  hath  this  earth 
Entrails  unlike)  of  mineral  and  stone, 

Whereof  to  found  their  engines  and  their  balls 
Of  missive  ruin  ;  part  incentive  reed 
Provide,  pernicious  with  one  touch  to  fire. 

So  all,  ere  day-spring,  under  conscious  night, 

Secret  they  finished,  and  in  order  set, 

With  silent  circumspection,  unespied. 

Now  when  fair  Morn  orient  in  heaven  appeared, 
Up  rose  the  victor-angels,  and  to  arms 
The  matin  trumpet  sung ;  in  arms  they  stood 
Of  golden  panoply,  refulgent  host, 

Soon  banded ;  others  from  the  dawning  hills 

Looked  round,  and  scouts  each  coast,  light-armed,  scour 

Each  quarter,  to  descry  the  distant  foe, 

Where  lodged,  or  whither  fled ;  or  if  for  fight 
In  motion  or  in  halt.  Him  soon  they  met, 

Under  spread  ensigns,  moving  nigh,  in  slow 
But  firm  battalion.  Back,  with  speediest  sail, 

Zophiel,  of  cherubim  the  swiftest  wing, 

Came  flying,  and,  in  mid  air,  aloud  thus  cried : 

Arm,  warriors,  arm  for  fight.  The  foe  at  ham 
Whom  fled  we  thought,  will  save  us  long  pursuit 
This  day,  fear  not  his  flight ;  so  thick  a  cloud 
He  comes,  and  settled  in  his  face  I  see 
Sad'  resolution,  and  secure.3  Let  each 
His  adamantine  coat  gird  well,  and  each 
Fit  well  his  helm,  gripe  fast  his  orbed  shield, 


*  And  adusted. — Adustus,  made  to  be  as  dust  by  fire. 


’  Sad. — Grave,  thoughtful. 


3  Secure. — Confiden 


152 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Buck  VI. — 544-5 


Borne  even  or  high ;  for  this  day  will  pour  down, 
If  I  conjecture  aught,  no  drizzling  shower, 

But  rattling  storm  of  arrows  barbed  with  fire. 

So  warned  he  them,  aware  themselves,  and  soon 
In  order,  quit  of  all  impediment, 

Instant,  without  disturb,1  they  took  alarm,8 
And  onward  moved  embattled  :  when,  behold ! 

Not  distant  far,  with  heavy  pace,  the  foe 
Approaching  gross  and  huge,  in  hollow  cube, 
Training  his  devilish  enginery,  impaled 
On  every  side  with  shadowing  squadrons  deep, 

To  hide  the  fraud.  At  interview  both  stood 
Awhile ;  but  suddenly  at  head  appeared 
Satan,  and  thus  was  heard  commanding  loud  : 

Vanguard,  to  right  and  left  the  front  unfold. 
That  all  may  see  who  hate  us,  how  we  seek 
Peace  and  composure,  and  with  open  breast 
Stand  ready  to  receive  them,  if  they  like 
Our  overture,  and  turn  not  back  perverse : 

But  that  I  doubt.  However,  witness  heaven  ! 
Heaven,  witness  thou  anon,  while  we  discharge 
Freely  our  part.  Ye,  who  appointed  stand, 

Do  as  you  have  in  charge,  and  briefly  touch 
What  we  propound,  and  loud,  that  all  may  hear. 

So  scoffing  in  ambiguous  words,  he  scarce 
Had  ended,  when  to  right  and  left  the  front 
Divided,  and  to  either  flank  retired : 

Which  to  our  eyes  discovered,  new  and  strange, 

A  triple  mounted  row  of  pillars,  laid 
On  wheels  (for  like  to  pillars  most  they  seemed, 

Or  hollowed  bodies  made  of  oak  or  fir, 

With  branches  lopt,  in  wood  or  mountain  felled). 
Brass,  iron,  stony  mould,  had  not  their  mouths 
With  hideous  orifice  gaped  on  us  wide, 


1  Disturb. — Disturbance. 


They  took  alarm. — Took  the  warning. 


Book  VI.- 578-611] 


PARADISE  LOSE. 


153 


Portending  hollow  truce.  At  each,  behind, 

A  seraph  stood,  and  in  his  hand  a  reed 
Stood  waving,  tipt  with  fire ;  while  we,  suspense,1 
Collected  stood,  within  our  thoughts  amused,2 
Not  long,  for  sudden,  all  at  once,  their  reeds 
Put  forth,  and  to  a  narrow  vent  applied 
With  nicest  touch.  Immediate,  in  a  flame, 

But  soon  obscured  with  smoke,  all  heaven  appeared, 
Prom  those  deep-throated  engines  belched,  wdiose  roar 
Embo welled  with  outrageous  noise  the  air, 

And  all  her  entrails  tore,  disgorging  foul 
Their  devilish  glut,  chained  thunderbolts  and  hail 
Of  iron  globes  ;  which,  on  the  victor  host 
Levelled,  with  such  impetuous  fury  smote, 

That  whom  they  hit,  none  on  their  feet  might  stand, 
Though  standing  else  as  rocks,  but  down  they  fell 
By  thousands,  Angel  on  Archangel  rolled, 

The  sooner  for  their  arms  ;  unarmed,  they  might 
Have  easily,  as  spirits,  evaded  swift 
By  quick  contraction  or  remove ;  but  now 
Foul  dissipation  followed,  and  forced  rout; 

Nor  served  it  to  relax  their  serried  files. 

What  should  they  do  ?  If  on  they  rushed,  repulse 

Repeated,  and  indecent  overthrow 

Doubled,  would  render  them  yet  more  despised, 

And  to  their  foes  a  laughter ;  for  in  view 
Stood  ranked  of  seraphim  another  row, 

In  posture  to  displode  their  second  tire 

Of  thunder :  hack  defeated  to  return 

They  worse  abhorred.  Satan  beheld  their  plight, 

And  to  his  mates  thus  in  derision  called  : 

0  friends  !  wdiy  come  not  on  these  victors  proud9 
Erewhile  they  fierce  were  coming ;  and  when  we, 

To  entertain  them  fair  with  open  front 


1  Suspense. — In  suspense. 


’  Within  our  thoughts  amused. — Musing,  wondering. 


154 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VJ.-612-647 


And  breast, — what  could  we  more? — propounded  terms 
Of  composition,  straight  they  changed  their  minds, 

Flew  off,  and  into  strange  vagaries  fell, 

As  they  would  dance.  Yet  for  a  dance  they  seemed 
Somewhat  extravagant  and  wild  ;  perhaps, 

For  joy  of  offered  peace.  But  I  suppose, 

If  our  proposals  once  again  were  heard, 

We  should  compel  them  to  a  quick  result. 

To  whom  thus  Belial,  in  like  gamesome  mood  : 
Leader,  the  terms  we  sent  were  terms  of  weight, 

Of  hard  contents,  and  full  of  force  urged  home ; 

Such  as  we  might  perceive  amused  them  all, 

And  stumbled  many.  Who  receives  them  right, 

Had  need  from  head  to  foot  well  understand ; 

Not  understood,  this  gift  they  have  besides, 

They  show  us  when  our  foes  walk  not  upright. 

So  they  among  themselves  in  pleasant  vein 
Stood  scoffing,  heightened  in  their  thoughts  beyond 
All  doubt  of  victory ;  Eternal  Might 
To  match  with  their  inventions  they  presumed 
So  easy,  and  of  his  thunder  made  a  scorn, 

And  all  his  host  derided,  while  they  stood 
Awhile  in  trouble.  But  they  stood  not  long. 

Rage  prompted  them  at  length,  and  found  them  arms 
Against  such  hellish  mischief  fit  to  oppose. 

Forthwith — behold  the  excellence,  the  power, 

Which  God  hath  in  his  mighty  angels  placed ! 

Their  arms  away  they  threw,  and  to  the  hills — 

For  earth  hath  this  variety  from  heaven 
Of  pleasure  situate  in  hill  and  dale, — 

Light  as  the  lightening  glimpse,  they  ran,  they  flew’ ; 
From  their  foundations  loosening  to  and  fro, 

They  plucked  the  seated  hills,  with  all  their  load, 
Rocks,  waters,  woods,  and  by  the  shaggy  tops 
Uplifting,  bore  them  in  their  hands.  Amaze, 

Be  sure,  and  terror,  seized  the  rebel  host, 


Book  VI.— 648-681] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


155 


When  coming  towards  them  so  dread  they  saw 
The  bottom  of  the  mountains  upward  turned, 

Till  on  those  cursed  engines’  triple  row 

They  saw  them  whelmed,  and  all  their  confidence 

Under  the  weight  of  mountains  buried  deep  ; 

Themselves  invaded  next,  and  on  their  heads 
Main  promontories  flung,  which  in  the  air 
Came  shadowing,  and  oppressed  whole  legions  armed. 
Their  armour  helped  their  harm,  crushed  in  and  bruised 
Into  their  substance  pent,  which  wrought  them  pain 
Implacable,1  and  many  a  dolorous  groan, 

Long  struggling  underneath,  ere  they  could  wind 
Out  of  such  prison,  though  spirits  of  purest  light, 

Purest  at  first,  now  gross  by  sinning  grown. 

The  rest,  in  imitation,  to  like  arms 

Betook  them,  and  the  neighbouring  hills  uptore  : 

So  hills  amid  the  air  encountered  hills, 

Hurled  to  and  fro  with  jaculation  dire, 

That  under  ground  they  fought  in  dismal  shade. 

Infernal  noise !  war  seemed  a  civil  game 
To  this  uproar :  horrid  confusion  heaped 
Upon  confusion  rose.  And  now  all  heaven 
Had  gone  to  wrack,  with  ruin  overspread, 

Had  not  the  Almighty  Father,  where  He  sits 
Shrined  in  his  sanctuary  of  heaven  secure, 

Consulting  on  the  sum  of  things,  foreseen 
This  tumult,  and  permitted  all,  advised ; 

That  his  great  purpose  he  might  so  fulfil, 

To  honour  his  anointed  Son  avenged 

Upon  his  enemies,  and  to  declare 

All  power  on  Him  transferred.  Whence  to  his  Son- 

The  assessor  of  his  throne,  he  thus  began : 

Effulgence  of  my  glory,  Son  beloved, 

Son,  in  whose  face  invisible  is  beheld 


1  Implacable. — Not  to  be  assuaged. 


158 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VI.— 682-715 


Visibly  what  by  Deity  I  am, 

And  in  whose  hand  what  by  decree  I  do, 

Second  Omnipotence  !  two  days  are  past, 

Two  days,  as  we  compute  the  days  of  heaven, 

Since  Michael  and  his  powers  went  forth  to  tame 
These  disobedient.  Sore  hath  been  their  fight, 

As  likeliest  was,  when  two  such  foes  met  armed  : 

For  to  themselves  I  left  them;  and  thou  knowest. 
Equal  in  their  creation  they  w^ere  formed, 

Save  what  sin  hath  impaired,  which  yet  hath  wrought 
Insensibly,  for  I  suspend  their  doom ; 

Whence  in  perpetual  fight  they  needs  must  last 
Endless,  and  no  solution  will  be  found. 

War  wearied  hath  performed  what  war  can  do, 

And  to  disordered*  rage  let  loose  the  reins, 

With  mountains,  as  with  weapons  armed  ;  wdiich  makes 
Wild  work  in  heaven,  and  dangerous  to  the  main.1 
Two  days  are  therefore  past,  the  third  is  Thine; 

For  thee  I  have  ordained  it;  and  thus  far 
Have  suffered,  that  the  glory  may  be  thine 
Of  ending  this  great  war,  since  none  but  Thou 
Can  end  it.  Into  thee  such  virtue  and  grace 
Immense  I  have  transfused,  that  all  may  know 
In  Heaven  and  Hell  thy  power  above  compare ; 

And  this  perverse  commotion  governed  thus, 

To  manifest  Thee  worthiest  to  be  Heir 
Of  all  things;  to  be  Heir  and  to  be  King 
By  sacred  unction,  thy  deserved  right. 

Go,  then,  thou  Mightiest,  in  thy  Father’s  might; 

Ascend  my  chariot,  guide  the  rapid  wheels 
That  shake  heaven’s  basis,  bring  forth  all  my  war, 

My  oo wt  and  thunder ;  my  almighty  arms 
Gird  on,  and  sword  upon  thy  puissant  thigh  ; 

Pursue  these  sons  of  darkness  drive  them  out 


1  To  the  main. — To  Heaven  itself— as  a  whole. 


Book  VI.— 716-749] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


15 


From  all  heaven’s  bounds  into  the  utter  deep  ; 

There  let  them  learn,  as  likes  them,  to  despise 
God,  and  Messiah,  his  anointed  King. 

He  said,  and  on  his  Son  with  rays  direct 
Shone  full ;  He  all  his  Father  full  expressed. 

Ineffably  into  his  face  received; 

And  thus  the  filial  Godhead  answering  spake: 

0  Father,  0  Supreme  of  heavenly  Thrones, 

First,  Highest,  Holiest,  Best,  thou  always  seek’st 
To  glorify  thy  Son ;  I  always  Thee, 

As  is  most  just.  This  I  my  glory  account, 

My  exaltation,  and  my  whole  delight, 

That  thou,  in  me  well  pleased,  declarest  thy  will 
Fulfilled,  which  to  fulfil  is  all  my  bliss. 

Sceptre  and  power,  thy  giving,  I  assume, 

And  gladlier  shall  resign,  when  in  the  end 
Thou  slialt  he  all  in  all,  and  I  in  Thee 
For  ever,  and  in  me  all  whom  thou  lovest: 

By  whom  thou  hatest,  I  hate,  and  can  put  on 
Thy  terrors,  as  I  put  thy  mildness  on, 

Image  of  Thee  in  all  things;  and  shall  soon, 

Armed  with  thy  might,  rid  heaven  of  these  rebelled,1 
To  their  prepared  ill  mansion  driven  down. 

To  chains  of  darkness,  and  the  undying  worm, 

That  from  thy  just  obedience  could  revolt, 

■Whom  to  obey  is  happiness  entire. 

Then  shall  thy  saints,  unmixed,  and  from  the  impure 
Far  separate,  circling  thy  holy  mount, 

Unfeigned  hallelujahs  to  Thee  sing, 

Hymns  of  high  praise,  and  I  among  them  chief. 

So  said,  He,  o’er  his  sceptre  bowing,  rose 
From  the  right  hand  of  glory  where  he  sat; 

And  the  third  sacred  morn  began  to  shine, 

Dawning  through  heaven.  Forth  rushed  with  whirlwind  sound 


1  These  rebelled. — Who  have  rebelled. 


158 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VI.— 750-783 


The  chariot  of  Paternal  Deity, 

Flashing  thick  flames,  wheel  within  wheel  undrawn, 
Itself  instinct  with  spirit,  but  convoyed 
By  four  cherubic  shapes.  Four  faces  each 
Had  wondrous  ;  as  with  stars,  their  bodies  all, 

And  wings,  were  set  with  eyes ;  with  eyes  the  wheels 
Of  beryl,  and  careering  fires  between  ; 

Over  their  heads  a  crystal  firmament, 

Whereon  a  sapphire  throne,  inlaid  with  pure 
Amber,  and  colours  of  the  showry  arch. 

He,  in  celestial  panoply  all  armed 
Of  radiant  Urim,1  work  divinely  wrought, 

Ascended  ;  at  his  right  hand  Victory 

Sat,  eagle-winged ;  beside  him  hung  his  bow 

And  quiver  with  three-bolted  thunder  stored  ; 

And  from  about  him  fierce  effusion  rolled 
Of  smoke,  and  bickering  flame,  and  sparkles  dire : 
Attended  with  ten  thousand  thousand  saints, 

He  onward  came.  Far  off  His  coming  shone ; 

And  twenty  thousand — I  their  number  heard — 
Chariots  of  God,  half  on  each  hand,  were  seen. 

He  on  the  wings  of  cherub  rode  sublime, 

On  the  crystalline  sky,  in  sapphire  throned, 

Illustrious  far  and  wide,  but  by  his  own 
First  seen  ;  them  unexpected  joy  surprised, 

When  the  great  ensign  of  Messiah  blazed 
Aloft,  by  angels  borne,  His  sign  in  heaven  ; 

.  Under  wdiose  conduct  Michael  soon  reduced 
His  army,  circumfused  on  either  wing, 

Under  their  Head  embodied  all  in  one. 

Before  him  Pow7er  Divine  his  way  prepared ; 

At  his  command  the  uprooted  hills  retired 

Each  to  his  place  ;  they  heard  His  voice,  and  went 

Obsequious  :  Heaven  its  wonted  face  renewed, 


1  Of  radiant  Urim. — Aaron’s  breastplate  was  so  called.  The  word  means  “  brilliancy.” 


Book  VI.— 784-819] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


159 


And  with  fresh  flow’rets  hill  and  valley  smiled. 

This  saw  his  hapless  foes,  but  stood  obdured, 

And  to  rebellious  fight  rallied  their  powers, 

Insensate,  hope  conceiving  from  despair ! 

In  heavenly  spirits  could  such  perverseness  dwell? 

But  to  convince  the  proud  what  signs  avail, 

Or  wonders  move,  the  obdurate  to  relent  ? 

They,  hardened  more  by  what  might  most  reclaim, 
Grieving  to  see  His  glory,  at  the  sight 
Took  envy,  and,  aspiring  to  His  height, 

Stood  re-embattled  fierce,  by  force  or  fraud 
Weening  to  prosper,  and  at  length  prevail 
Against  God  and  Messiah,  or  to  fall 
In  universal  ruin  last :  and  now 
To  final  battle  drew,  disdaining  flight, 

Or  faint  retreat ;  when  the  great  Son  of  God 
To  all  his  host  on  either  hand  thus  spake : 

Stand  still  in  bright  array,  ye  saints  ;  here  stand, 
Ye  angels  armed ;  this  day  from  battle  rest. 

Faithful  hath  been  your  warfare,  and  of  God 
Accepted,  fearless  in  his  righteous  cause ; 

And  as  ye  have  received,  so  have  ye  done, 

Invincibly.  But  of  this  cursed  crew 
The  punishment  to  other  hand  belongs ; 

Vengeance  is  His,  or  whose  He  sole  appoints. 

Number  to  this  day’s  work  is  not  ordained, 

Nor  multitude;  stand  only,  and  behold 
God’s  indignation  on  these  godless  poured 
By  me  ;  not  you,  but  me,  they  have  despised, 

Yet  envied  ;  against  me  is  all  their  rage, 

Because  the  Father,  to  whom,  in  heaven  supreme. 
Kingdom,  and  power,  and  glory,  appertain, 

Hath  honoured  me  according  to  his  will. 

Therefore  to  me  their  doom  He  hath  assigned : 

That  they  may  have  their  wish,  to  try  with  me 
In  battle  which  the  stronger  proves ;  they  all, 


160 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VI.— 820-855 


Or  I  alone  against  them ;  since  by  strength 
They  measure  all,  of  other  excellence 
Not  emulous,  nor  care  who  them  excels ; 

Nor  other  strife  with  them  do  I  vouchsafe. 

So  spake  the  Son,  and  into  terror  changed 
Ilis  countenance,  too  severe  to  be  beheld, 

And  full  of  wrath  bent  on  his  enemies. 

At  once  the  four  spread  out  their  starry  wings 
With  dreadful  shade  contiguous,  and  the  orbs 
Of  his  fierce  chariot  rolled,  as  with  the  sound 
Of  torrent  floods,  or  of  a  numerous  host. 

He  on  his  impious  foes  right  onward  drove, 

Gloomy  as  night.  Under  his  burning  wheels 
The  steadfast  Empyrean  shook  throughout, 

All  but  the  throne  itself  of  God.  Full  soon 
Among  them  he  arrived,  in  his  right  hand 
Grasping  ten  thousand  thunders,  which  he  sent 
Before  him,  such  as  in  their  souls  infixed 
Plagues.  They,  astonished,  all  resistance  lost, 

All  courage ;  down  their  idle  weapons  dropt, 

O’er  shields,  and  helms,  and  helmed  heads  He  rode  — 
Of  Thrones  and  mighty  Seraphim  prostrate ; 

That  wished  the  mountains  now  might  be  again 
Thrown  on  them,  as  a  shelter  from  his  ire. 

Nor  less  on  either  side  tempestuous  fell 
His  arrows,  from  the  fourfold-visaged  four 
Distinct  with  eyes,  and  from  the  living  wheels 
Distinct  alike  with  multitude  of  eyes  ; 

One  spirit  in  them  ruled,  and  every  eye 
Glared  lightning,  and  shot  forth  pernicious  fire 
Among  the  accursed,  that  withered  all  their  strength, 
And  of  their  wonted  vigour  left  them  drained, 
Exhausted,  spiritless,  afflicted,  fallen. 

Yet  half  his  strength  he  put  not  forth,  but  checked 
His  thunder  in  mid  volley ;  for  he  meant 
Not  to  destroy,  but  root  them  out  of  heaven. 


29 


Niue  days  they  fell. 


Booh  VI line  871. 


28 


Hell  at  last 

Yawning,  received  them  whole. 

Book  VI. ,  lines  874,  875. 


t 


Book  VI.— 856-890]  PARADISE  LOST.  i‘Jl 

The  overthrown  he  raised,  and  as  a  herd 
Of  -goats  or  timorous  liock  together  thronged, 

Drove  them  before  him,  thunderstruck,  pursued 
With  terrors,  and  with  furies,  to  the  bounds 
And  crystal  wall  of  Heaven  ;  which,  opening  wide. 

Rolled  inward,  and  a  spacious  gap  disclosed 
Into  the  wasteful  Deep.  The  monstrous  sight 
Struck  them  with  horror  backward,  but  far  worse 
Urged  them  behind — headlong  themselves  they  threw 
Down  from  the  verge  of  Heaven ;  eternal  wrath 
Burnt  after  them  to  the  bottomless  pit. 

Hell  heard  the  unsufferable  noise  ;  Hell  saw 
Heaven  ruining  from  Heaven,  and  would  have  lied 
Affrighted;  but  strict  Fate  had  cast  too  deep 
Her  dark  foundations,  and  too  fast  had  bound. 

Nine  days  they  fell ;  confounded  Chaos  roared, 

And  felt  tenfold  confusion  in  their  fall 
Through  his  wild  anarchy ;  so  huge  a  rout 
Encumbered  him  with  ruin.  Hell  at  last, 

Yawning,  received  them  whole,  and  on  them  closed ; 

Hell,  their  fit  habitation,  fraught  with  fire 
Unquenchable,  the  house  of  woe  and  pain. 

Disburdened  Heaven  rejoiced,  and  soon  repaired 
Her  mural  breach,  returning  whence  it  rolled. 

Sole  Victor,  from  the  expulsion  of  his  foes, 

Messiah  his  triumphal  chariot  turned. 

To  meet  Him,  all  his  saints,  who  silent  stood 
Eye-witnesses  of  his  almighty  acts, 

With  jubilee  advanced ;  and,  as  they  went, 

Shaded  with  branching  palm,  each  order  bright 
Sung  triumph,  and  Him  sung  victorious  King, 

Son,  Heir,  and  Lord,  to  Him  dominion  given, 

Worthiest  to  reign.  He,  celebrated,  rode 
Triumphant  through  mid  heaven,  into  the  courts 
And  temple  of  his  mighty  Father  throned 


162 


PARADISE  LOST, 


[Book  VI.— 891-912 


On  high  ;  who  into  glory  Him  received, 

Where  now  he  sits  at  the  right  hand  of  bliss. 

Thus  measuring  things  in  heaven  by  things  on  earth. 
At  thy  request,  and  that  thou  may’st  beware 
By  what  is  past,  to  thee  I  have  revealed 
What  might  have  else  to  human  race  been  hid  : 

The  discord  which  befell,  and  war  in  heaven 
Among  the  angelic  powers,  and  the  deep  fall 
Of  those,  too  high  aspiring,  who  rebelled 
With  Satan  ;  he  who  envies  now  thy  state, 

Who  now  is  plotting  how  he  may  seduce 
Thee  also  from  obedience,  that  with  him, 

Bereaved  of  happiness,  thou  mayest  partake 
His  punishment,  eternal  misery ; 

Which  would  be  all  his  solace  and  revenge, 

As  a  despite  done  against  the  Most  High, 

Thee  once  to  gain  companion  of  his  woe. 

But  listen  not  to  his  temptations,  warn 

Thy  weaker ;  let  it  profit  thee  to  have  heard, 

By  terrible  example,  the  reward 
Of  disobedience  ;  firm  they  might  have  stood, 

Yet  fell ;  remember,  and  fear  to  transgress. 


BOOK  VII. 


Raphael,  at  the  request  of  Adam,  relates  how  and  wherefore  this  world  was  first  created ;  that  God,  after  the 
expelling  of  Satan  and  His  angels  out  of  heaven,  declared  His  pleasure  io  create  another  world,  and  other 
creatures  to  dwell  therein;  sends  His  Son  with  glory,  and  attendance  of  augels,  to  perform  the  work  of  cre¬ 
ation  in  six  days:  the  angels  celebrate  with  hymns  the  performance  thereof,  and  His  re-ascension  into 
Heaven. 

|~^ESCEND  from  heaven/  Urania — by  that  name 
If  rightly  thou  art  called — whose  voice  divine 
Following,  above  the  Olympian  hill  I  soar, 

Above  the  flight  of  Pegasean  wing. 

The  meaning,  not  the  name,  I  call ;  for  thou 
Nor  of  the  Muses  nine,  nor  on  the  top 
Of  old  Olympus  dwellest,  hut,  heavenly-horn, 

Before  the  hills  appeared,  or  fountain  tlowed, 

Thou  with  Eternal  Wisdom8  didst  converse, 

Wisdom  thy  sister,  and  with  her  didst  play 
In  presence  of  the  Almighty  Father,  pleased 
With  thy  celestial  song.  Up  led  by  thee, 

Into  the  Heaven  of  Heavens  I  have  presumed, 

An  earthly  guest,  and  drawn  Empyreal  air, 

Thy  tempering.  With  like  safety  guided  down, 

Return  me  to  my  native  element ; 

Lest  from  this  flying  steed  unreined — as  once 
Bellerophon,  though  from  a  lower  clime — 

Dismounted,  on  the  Aleian3  field  I  fall, 

Erroneous  there  to  wander,  and  forlorn. 

Half  yet  remains  unsung,  hut  narrower  bound 
Within  the  visible  diurnal  sphere : 

Standing  on  earth,  not  rapt  above  the  pole, 

1  Descend  from  Heaven. — The  theme  of  the  poet  now  descends  from  heaven  to  earth,  and  he  prays  that  the  Muse, 
or  inspiration,  which  has  hitherto  been  his  guide,  may  descend  with  him.  Urania  was  oue  of  the  Greek  muses 
dwelling  in  Olympus,  and  Milton  means  to  say  that  under  that  doubtful  name  he  has  sought  aid  that  might  enable 
him  to  treat  of  matters  which  Olympian  inspiration  could  never  reveal,  and  to  soar  beyond  the  flight  of  Pegasus — the 
horse  from  whose  back  Bellerophon  fell  in  his  attempted  flight  towards  heaven. 

2  Eternal  Wisdom.. — Such  was  the  inspiration  the  poet  sought — that  of  the  Eternal  Word. 

3  The  Aleian  field. — The  field  of  wandering,  in  which  Bellerophon  roamed  after  his  fall. 


164 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VII.— 24-56 


More  safe  I  sing  with  mortal  voice  unchanged 
To  hoarse  or  mute,  though  fallen  on  evil  days, 

On  evil  days  though  fallen,  and  evil  tongues ; 

In  darkness,  and  with  dangers  compassed  round, 

And  solitude  ;  yet  not  alone,  while  thou 
Visit’st  my  slumbers  nightly,  or  when  Morn 
Purples  the  east.  Still  govern  thou  my  song, 

Urania,  and  fit  audience  find,  though  few. 

But  drive  far  off  the  barbarous  dissonance 
Of  Bacchus  and  his  revellers,  the  race 
Of  that  wild  rout  that  tore  the  Thracian  bard1 
In  Bodope,  where  woods  and  rocks  had  ears 
To  rapture,  till  the  savage  clamour  drowned  . 

Both  harp  and  voice ;  nor  could  the  muse  defend 
Her  son.  So  fail- not  thou,  who  thee  implores;  . 

For  thou  art  heavenly,  she  an  empty  dream. 

Say,  goddess,  what  ensued  when  Raphael, 

The  affable  Archangel,  had  forewarned 
Adam,  by  dire  example,  to  beware 
Apostasy,  by  what  befell  in  heaven 
To  those  apostates,  lest  the  like  befall 
In  Paradise  to  Adam  or  his  race, 

Charged  not  to  touch  the  interdicted  tree, 

If  they  transgress,  and  slight  that  sole  command, 

So  easily  obeyed  amid  the  choice 

Of  all  tastes  else  to  please  their  appetite 

Though  wandering.  He,  with  his  consorted  Eve, 

The  story  heard  attentive,  and  was  filled 
With  admiration  and  deep  muse,8  to  hear 
Of  things  so  high  and  strange ;  things  to  their  thought 
So  unimaginable  as  hate  in  heaven, 

And  war  so  near  the  peace  of  God  in  bliss, 

With  such  confusion :  but  the  evil,  soon 

1  The  Thracian  lard,.—  The  Thracians  were  said  to  have  torn  the  poet  Orpheus,  the  son  of  the  Muse  Calliope,  to 
pieces.  Milton  here  refers  to  the  riotous  cavaliers  and  courtiers  of  the  time  of  Charles  II  ,  from  whose  hands  he 
seems  to  have  thought  it  possible  that  a  similar  fate  might  befall  himself. 

5  With  admiration  and  deep  muse. — With  wonder  and  deep  thought. 


Book  VII.— 57-90] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


165 


Driven  back,  redounded  as  a  flood  on  those 
From  whom  it  sprung,  impossible  to  mix 
With  blessedness.  Whence  Adam  soon  repealed1 
The  doubts  that  in  his  heart  arose ;  and  now 
Led  on,  yet  sinless,  with  desire  to  know 
What  nearer  might  concern  him,  how  this  world 
Of  hea  ven  and  earth  conspicuous2  first  began ; 

When,  and  whereof  created ;  for  what  cause ; 

What  within  Eden,  or  without,  was  done 
Before  his  memory,  as  one,  whose  drought 
Yet  scarce  allayed,  still  eyes  the  current  stream, 
Whose  liquid  murmur  heard,  newr  thirst  excites, 
Proceeded  thus  to  ask  his  heavenly  guest : 

Great  things,  and  full  of  wonder  in  our  ears, 
Far  differing  from  this  world,  thou  hast  revealed, 
Divine  interpreter  !  by  favour  sent 
Down  from  the  Empyrean,  to  forewarn 
Us  timely  of  what  might  else  have  been  our  loss, 
Unknown,  which  human  knowledge  could  not  reach ; 
For  which,  to  the  infinitely  Good  we  owe 
Immortal  thanks,  and  His  admonishment 
Deceive,  with  solemn  purpose  to  observe 
Immutably  his  sovereign  will,  the  end 
Of  what  we  are.  But  since  thou  hast  vouchsafed 
Gently,  for  our  instruction,  to  impart 
Things  above  earthly  thought,  which  yet  concerned 
Our  knowing,  as  to  highest  Wisdom  seemed. 

Deign  to  descend  now  lower,  and  relate 
What  may  no  less,  perhaps,  avail  us  known : 

How  first  began  this  heaven  winch  w^e  behold 
Distant  so  high,  with  moving  fires  adorned 
Innumerable ;  and  this  which  yields  or  fills 
All  space,  the  ambient  air  wide  interfused, 

Embracing  round  this  florid  earth  :  wfliat  cause 


1  Repealed. — Possibly  the  word  should  be  “  repelled.”  That  is  certainly  the  idea  intended  to  be  conveyed. 
*  Conspicuous. — Visible,  present  to  the  senses. 


166 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  V1L-  91-124 


Moved  the  Creator,  in  his  holy  rest 
Through  all  eternity,  so  late  to  build 
In  Chaos  ;  and  the  work  begun,  how  soon 
Absolved ;  if  unforbid  thou  mayest  unfold 
What  we,  not  to  explore  the  secrets,  ask 
Of  His  eternal  empire,  but  the  more 
To  magnify  his  works,  the  more  we  know. 

And  the  great  light  of  day  yet  wants  to  run 
Much  of  his  race,  though  steep.  Suspense  in  heaven, 
Held  by  thy  voice,  thy  potent  voice,  he  hears, 

And  longer  will  delay,  to  hear  thee  tell 
His  generation,  and  the  rising  birth 
Of  nature  from  the  unapparent  deep ; 

Or  if  the  star  of  evening  and  the  moon 
Haste  to  thy  audience,  night  with  her  will  bring 
Silence ;  and  sleep,  listening  to  thee,  will  watch ; 

Or  we  can  bid  his  absence,  till  thy  song 
End,  and  dismiss  thee  ere  the  morning  shine. 

Thus  Adam  his  illustrious  guest  besought ; 

And  thus  the  godlike  Angel  answered  mild : 

This  also  thy  request,  with  caution  asked, 

Obtain  ;  though,  to  recount  almighty  works, 

What  words  or  tongue  of  Seraph  can  suffice, 

Or  heart  of  man  suffice  to  comprehend? 

Yet  what  thou  canst  attain,  which  best  may  serve 
To  glorify  the  Maker,  and  infer 
Thee1  also  happier,  shall  not  be  withheld 
Thy  hearing ;  such  commission  from  above 
I  have  received,  to  answer  thy  desire 
Of  knowledge  within  bounds  ;  beyond,  abstain 
To  ask ;  nor  let  thine  own  inventions  hope 
Things  not  revealed  which  the  invisible  King, 

Only  Omniscient,  hath  suppressed  in  night, 

To  none  communicable  in  Earth  or  Heaven. 


1  Infer  thee. — Help  thee — make  thee  to  be. 


Book  VII.— 125-160] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


167 


Enough  is  left  besides  to  search  and  know ; 

But  knowledge  is  as  food,  and  needs  no  less 
Her  temperance  over  appetite,  to  know 
In  measure  what  the  mind  may  well  contain  ; 

Oppresses  else  with  surfeit,  and  soon  turns 
Wisdom  to  folly,  as  nourishment  to  wind. 

Know  then,  that,  after  Lucifer  from  Heaven — 

So  call  him,  brighter  once  amidst  the  host 
Of  Angels,  than  that  star  the  stars  among — 

Fell  with  his  flaming  legions  through  the  Deep 
Into  his  place,  and  the  great  Son  returned 
Victorious  with  his  saints,  the  Omnipotent 
Eternal  Father  from  his  throne  beheld 
Their  multitude,  and  to  his  Son  thus  spake : 

At  least  our  envious  foe  hath  failed,  who  thought 
All  like  himself  rebellious  ;  by  whose  aid 
This  inaccessible  high  strength,  the  seat 
Of  Deity  supreme,  us  dispossessed, 

He  trusted  to  have  seized,  and  into  fraud 

Drew  many,  whom  their  place  knows  here  no  more, 

Yet  far  the  greater  part  have  kept,  I  see, 

Their  station ;  Heaven,  yet  populous,  retains 
Number  sufficient  to  possess  her  realms 
Though  wide,  and  this  high  temple  to  frequent 
With  ministeries  due,  and  solemn  rites. 

But,  lest  his  heart  exhalt  him  in  the  harm 
Already  done,  to  have  dispeopled  heaven, 

My  damage  fondly  deemed,  I  can  repair 
That  detriment,  if  such  it  be,  to  lose 
Self-lost ;  and  in  a  moment  will  create 
Another  world,  out  of  one  p~!an  a  race 
Of  men  innumerable,  there  to  dwell ; 

Not  here,  till  by  degrees  of  merit  raised, 

They  open  to  themselves  at  length  the  way 
Up  hither,  under  long  obedience  tried, 

And  Earth  be  changed  to  Heaven,  and  Heaven  to  Earth, 


168 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VIL— 161-195 


One  kingdom,  joy  and  union  without  end. 

Meanwhile,  inhabit  lax,1  ye  Powers  of  Heaven  ; 

And  thou,  my  Word,  begotten  Son,  by  thee 
This  I  perform ;  speak  Thou,  and  he  it  done  ! 

My  overshadowing  Spirit  and  might  with  thee 
I  send  along ;  ride  forth,  and  hid  the  deep 
Within  appointed  hounds  he  Heaven  and  Earth ; 
Boundless  the  Deep,  because  I  Am,  who  fill 
Infinitude ;  nor  vacuous  the  space, 

Though  I,  uncircumscribed  myself,  retire, 

And  put  not  forth  my  goodness,  which  is  free 
To  act  or  not ;  necessity  and  chance 
Approach  not  me,  and  what  I  will  is  fate. 

So  spake  the  Almighty,  and  to  what  he  spake, 
His  Word,  the  filial  Godhead,  gave  effect. 

Immediate  are  the  acts  of  God,  more  swift 
Than  time  or  motion ;  but  to  human  ears 
Cannot  without  process  of  speech  he  told. 

So  told  as  earthly  notion  can  receive. 

Great  triumph  and  rejoicing  were  in  Heaven, 

Wrhen  such  was  heard  declared  the  Almighty’s  will ; 
Glory  they  sung  to  the  Most  High,  good-will 
To  future  men,  and  in  their  dwellings  peace : 

Glory  to  Him,  whose  just  avenging  ire 
Had  driven  out  the  ungodly  from  his  sight 
And  the  habitations  of  the  just ;  to  Him 
Glory  and  praise,  whose  wisdom  hatj  ordained 
Good  out  of  evil  to  create  ;  instead 
Of  spirits  malign,  a  better  race  to  bring 
Into  their  vacant  room,  and  thence  diffuse 
His  good  to  worlds  and  ages  infinite. 

So  sang  the  Hierarchies.  Meanwhile  the  Son 
On  his  great  expedition  now  appeared, 

Girt  with  omnipotence,  with  radiance  crowned 
Of  majesty  divine,  sapience  and  love 


1  Inhabit,  lax. — With  ample  space. 


Book  VII.— 196-231] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


Ififi 

Immense,  and  all  His  Father  in  him  shone. 

About  His  chariot  numberless  were  poured 
Cherub  and  Seraph,  Potentates  and  Thrones, 

And  Virtues,  winged  Spirits,  and  Chariots  winged 
From  the  armoury  of  God  ;  where  stand  of  old 
Myriads,  betwen  two  brazen  mountains  lodged 
Against  a  solemn  day,  harnessed  at  hand, 

Celestial  equipage ;  and  now  come  forth 
Spontaneous,  for  within  them  spirit  lived, 

Attendant  on  their  Lord.  Heaven  opened  wide 
Her  ever-during  gates,  harmonious  sound, 

On  golden  hinges  moving,  to  let  forth 
The  King  of  Glory  in  his  powerful  Word 
And  Spirit,  coming  to  create  new  worlds. 

On  heavenly  ground  they  stood  ;  and  from  the  shore 
They  viewed  the  vast  immeasureable  Abyss, 

Outrageous  as  a  sea,  dark,  wasteful,  wild, 

Up  from  the  bottom  turned  by  furious  winds 
And  surging  waves,  as  mountains,  to  assault 
Heaven’s  height,  and  with  the  centre  mix  the  pole. 

Silence,  ye  troubled  waves,  and  thou  Deep,  peace. 

Said  then  the  omnific  Word,  your  discord  end ! 

Nor  stayed;  hut  on  the  wings  of  cherubim 

Uplifted,  in  paternal  glory  rode 

Far  into  Chaos,  and  the  World  unborn; 

For  Chaos  heard  his  voice.  Him  all  his  train 
Followed  in  bright  procession,  to  behold 
Creation,  and  the  wonders  of  his  might. 

Then  stayed  the  fervid  wheels,  and  in  his  hand 
He  took  the  golden  compasses,  prepared 
In  God’s  eternal  store,  to  circumscribe 
This  Universe,  and  all  created  things. 

One  foot  he  centred,  and  the  other  turned 
Round  through  the  vast  profundity  obscure, 

And  said — Thus  far  extend,  thus  far  thy  bounds, 

This  be  thy  just  circumference,  0  world  ! 


170 


PAKADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VII.— 232-26? 


Thus  God  the  heaven  created,  thus  the  earth, 
Matter  unformed  and  void.  Darkness  profound 
Covered  the  abyss ;  but  on  the  watery  calm 
His  brooding  wings  the  Spirit  of  God  outspread, 

And  vital  virtue  infused,  and  vital  warmth, 

Throughout  the  fluid  mass  ;  but  downward  purged 
The  black,  tartareous,  cold,  infernal  dregs, 

Adverse  to  life :  then  founded,  then  conglobed 
Like  things  to  like ;  the  rest  to  several  place 
Disparted,  and  between  spun  out  the  air ; 

And  earth,  self-balanced,  on  her  centre  hung. 

Let  there  he  light,  said  God ;  and  forthwith  light 
Ethereal,  first  of  things,  quintessence  pure, 

Sprung  from  the  deep ;  and  from  her  native  east 
To  journey  through  the  aery  gloom  began, 

Sphered  in  a  radiant  cloud — for  yet  the  sun 
Was  not — she  in  a  cloudy  tabernacle 
Sojourned  the  while.  God  saw  the  light  was  good; 
And  light  from  darkness  by  the  hemisphere 
Divided.  Light,  the  Day,  and  darkness,  Night, 

He  named.  Thus  was  the  first  day  even  and  morn  ; 
Nor  passed  uncelebrated,  nor  unsung 
By  the  celestial  choirs,  when  orient  light 
Exhaling  first  from  darkness  they  beheld, 

Birth-day  of  heaven  and  earth,  with  joy  and  shout 
The  hollow  universal  orb  they  filled, 

And  touched  their  golden  harps,  and  hymning  praised 
God  and  his  works :  Creator  Him  they  sung, 

Both  when  first  evening  was,  and  when  first  morn. 

Again,  God  said  : — Let  there  he  firmament 
Amid  the  waters,  and  let  it  divide 
The  waters  from  the  waters  ;  and  God  made 
The  firmament,  expanse  of  liquid  pure, 

Transparent,  elemental  air,  diffused 
In  circuit  to  the  uttermost  convex 
Of  this  great  round ;  partition  firm  and  sure, 


Booh  VII.,  lines  298,  299. 


Book  VII.— 268-301] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


171 


The  waters  underneath  from  those  above 
Dividing  :  for  as  earth,  so  He  the  world 
Built  on  circumfluous  waters,  calm,  in  wide 
Caystalline  ocean,  and  the  loud  misrule 
Of  Chaos  far  removed,  lest  fierce  extremes 
Contiguous  might  distemper  the  whole  frame. 

And  heaven  He  named  the  firmament.  So  even 
And  morning  chorus  sung  the  second  day. 

The  earth  was  formed,  hut  in  the  womb  as  yet 
Of  waters,  embryon  immature  involved, 

Appeared  not ;  over  all  the  face  of  earth 
Main  ocean  flowed,  not  idle,  but  with  warm 
Prolific  humour  softening  all  her  globe, 

Fermented  the  great  mother  to  conceive, 

Satiate  with  genial  moisture  ;  when  God  said, 

Be  gathered  now,  ye  waters  under  heaven, 

Into  one  place,  and  let  dry  land  appear. 

Immediately  the  mountains  huge  appear 
Emergent,  and  their  broad  bare  hacks  upheave 
Into  the  clouds  ;  their  tops  ascend  the  sky. 

So  high  as  heaved  the  tumid  hills,  so  low 
Down  sunk  a  hollow  bottom  broad  and  deep, 
Capacious  bed  of  waters.  Thither  they 
Hasted  with  glad  precipitance,  uprolled, 

As  drops  on  dust  conglobing  from  the  dry ; 

Part  rise  in  crystal  wall,  or  ridge  direct, 

For  haste ;  such  flight  the  great  command  impressed 
On  the  swift  floods ;  as  armies  at  the  call 
Of  trumpet — for  of  armies  thou  hast  heard — 

Troop  to  their  standard,  so  the  watery  throng, 

Wave  rolling  after  wave,  where  way  they  found ; 

If  steep,  with  torrent  rapture  -,1  if  through  plain, 

Soft  ebbing  :  nor  withstood  them  rock  or  hill ; 

But  they,  or  under  ground,  or  circuit  wide 


*  With  torrent  rapture. — Torrent,  which  forces  everything  from  its  path. 


172 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VII.—  302-334 


With  serpent  error  wandering,1  found  their  way, 

And  on  the  washy  ooze  deep  channels  wore; 

Easy,  ere  God  had  bid  the  ground  be  dry, 

All  but  within  those  banks,  where  rivers  now 
Stream,  and  perpetual  draw  their  humid  train. 

The  dry  land,  Earth,  and  the  great  receptacle 
Of  congregated  waters,  He  called  Seas  ; 

And  saw  that  it  was  good  ;  and  said  : — Let  the  earth 
Put  forth  the  verdant  grass,  herb  yielding  seed, 

And  fruit-tree  yielding  fruit  after  her  kind, 

Whose  seed  is  in  herself  upon  the  earth. 

He  scarce  had  said,  when  the  bare  earth,  till  then 
Desert  and  bare,  unsightly,  unadorned, 

Brought  forth  the  tender  grass,  whose  verdure  clad 
Her  universal  face  with  pleasant  green ; 

Then  herbs  of  every  leaf,  that  sudden  flowered, 

Opening  their  various  colours,  and  made  gay 

Her  bosom,  smelling  sweet ;  and,  these  scarce  blown, 

Forth  flourished  thick  the  clustering  vine,  forth  crept 
The  swelling  gourd,  up  stood  the  corny  reed 
Embattled  in  her  field,  and  the  humble  shrub, 

And  bush  with  frizzled  hair  implicit  :3  last 
Bose,  as  in  dance,  the  stately  trees,  and  spread 
Their  branches,  hung  with  copious  fruit,  or  gemmed 
Their  blossoms.  With  high  woods  the  hills  were  crowned, 
With  tufts  the  valleys,  and  each  fountain  side ; 

With  borders  long  the  rivers  :  that  Earth  now 

Seemed  like  to  Heaven,  a  seat  where  Gods  might  dwell, 

Or  wander  with  delight,  and  love  to  haunt 

Her  sacred  shades ;  though  God  had  yet  not  rained 

Upon  the  earth,  and  man  to  till  the  ground 

None  was,  but  from  the  earth  a  dewy  mist 

Went  up,  and  watered  all  the  ground,  and  each 


1  With  serpent  error  wandering. — An  obscure  expression.  A  winding  path  might  be  descrioed  as  serpentine;  but 
why  is  it  said  to  be  erroneous  ?  Perhaps  because  it  seems  to  suDpose  action  and  reaction,  which  itself  supposes 
imperfect  knowledge. 

a  Frizzled  hair  implicit.  —  Implieitux — entangled.  (Latin.) 


Book  VII.— 335-367] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


173 


Plant  of  the  field ;  which,  ere  it  was  in  the  earth, 
God  made,  and  every  herh,  before  it  grew 
On  the  green  stem.  God  saw  that  it  was  good : 

So  even  and  morn  recorded  the  third  day. 

Again  the  Almighty  spake  : — Let  there  he  lights 
High  in  the  expanse  of  heaven,  to  divide 
The  day  from  night ;  and  let  them  he  for  signs, 

For  seasons,  and  for  days,  and  circling  years ; 

And  let  them  he  for  lights,  as  I  ordain 
Their  office  in  the  firmament  of  heaven, 

To  give  light  on  the  earth ;  and  it  was  so. 

And  God  made  two  great  lights,  great  for  their  use 
To  man,  the  greater  to  have  rule  by  day, 

The  less  by  night,  altern and  made  the  stars, 

And  set  them  in  the  firmament  of  heaven 
To  illuminate  the  earth,  and  rule  the  day 
In  their  vicissitude,  and  rule  the  night, 

And  light  from  darkness  to  divide.  God  saw, 
Surveying  his  great  work,  that  it  was  good  : 

For,  of  celestial  bodies,  first  the  sun, 

A  mighty  sphere,  he  framed,  unlightsome8  first, 

Though  of  ethereal  mould ;  then  formed  the  moon 
Globose,  and  every  magnitude  of  Stars, 

And  sowed  with  stars  the  heaven,  thick  as  a  field. 
Of  light  by  far  the  greater  part  he  took, 
Transplanted  from  her  cloudy  shrine,  and  placed 
In  the  sun’s  orb,  made  porous  to  receive 
And  drink  the  liquid  light ;  firm  to  retain 
Her  gathered  beams,  great  palace  now  of  light. 
Hither,  as  to  their  fountain,  other  stars 
Repairing,  in  their  golden  urns  draw  light, 

And  hence  the  morning  planet  gilds  her  horns ; 

By  tincture  or  reflection  they  augment 


s  Altern. — Alternately. 

3  Unlightsome. — Not  luminous. 

By  tincture  or  reflection  they  augment. — The  horns  of  Venus,  which  are  tinged  and  magnified  by  the  solar  light. 


174 


PAKADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VII. — 3158-403 


Their  small  peculiar,  though  from  human  sight 
So  far  remote,  with  diminution  seen. 

First  in  his  east  the  glorious  lamp  was  seen, 

Regent  of  day,  and  all  the  horizon  round 
Invested  with  bright  rays,  jocund  to  run 
His  longitude  through  heaven’s  high  road ;  the  grey 
Dawn,  and  the  Pleiades,  before  him  danced, 

Shedding  sweet  influence.  Less  bright  the  moon, 

But  opposite  in  levelled  west  was  set, 

His  mirror,  with  full  face  borrowing  her  light 
From  him ;  for  other  light  she  needed  none 
In  that  aspect,  and  still  that  distance  keeps 
Till  night ;  then  in  the  east  her  turn  she  shines, 
Revolved  on  heaven’s  great  axle,  and  her  reign 
With  thousand  lesser  lights  dividual  holds, 

With  thousand  thousand  stars,  that  then  appeared 
Spangling  the  hemisphere.  Then  first  adorned 
With  her  bright  luminaries,  that  set  and  rose, 

Glad  evening  and  glad  morn  crowned  the  fourth  day. 

And  God  said  : — Let  the  waters  generate 
Reptile  with  spawn  abundant,  living  soul ; 

And  let  fowl  fly  above  the  earth,  with  wings 
Displayed  on  the  open  firmament  of  heaven. 

And  God  created  the  great  whales,  and  each 
Soul  living,  each  that  crept,  which  plenteously 
The  waters  generated  by  their  kinds, 

And  every  bird  of  wing  after  his  kind, 

And  saw  that  it  was  good,  and  blessed  them,  saying : — 
Be  fruitful,  multiply,  and  in  the  seas, 

And  lakes,  and  running  streams,  the  waters  fill, 

And  let  the  fowl  be  multiplied  on  the  earth. 

Forthwith  the  sounds  and  seas,  each  creek  and  bay, 
With  fry  innumerable  swarm,  and  shoals 
Of  fish  that,  with  their  fins,  and  shining  scales, 

Glide  under  the  green  wave,  in  sculls  that  oft 
Bank  the  mid-sea.  Part  single,  or  with  mate, 


And  God  said:  “  Let  the  waters  generate 
Reptile  with  spawn  abundant,  living  soul ; 
And  let  fowl  fly  above  the  earth.” 


Boole  VII.,  lines  387 — 389, 


And  seems  a  movingland;  and  at  bis  gills 

Draws  in,  and  at  his  trunk  spouts  out,  a  sea. 

Boole  VII.,  lines  415,  416. 


32 


Book  VII.— 404-435] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


175 


Graze  the  sea-weed  their  pasture,  and  through  groves 
Of  coral  stray  ;  or,  sporting  with  quick  glance, 

Show  to  the  sun  their  waved  coats,  dropt  with  gold ; 

Or,  in  their  pearly  shells  at  ease,  attend 
Moist  nutriment ;  or  under  rocks  their  food, 

In  jointed  armour,  watch  ;  on  smooth,  the  seal 
And  hended  dolphins  play ;  part,  huge  of  bulk, 

Wallowing  unwieldy,  enormous  in  their  gait, 

Tempest  the  ocean.1  There  leviathan,2 
Hugest  of  living  creatures,  on  the  deep 
Stretched  like  a  promontory,  sleeps  or  swims, 

And  seems  a  moving  land ;  and  at  his  gills 
Draws  in,  and  at  his  trunk  spouts  out,  a  sea. 

Meanwhile  the  tepid  caves,  and  fens,  and  shores, 

Their  brood  as  numerous  hatch  from  the  egg  that  soon, 
Bursting  with  kindly  rupture,  forth  disclosed 
Their  callow  young;3  hut  feathered  soon  and  fledge 
They  summed  their  pens,4  and,  soaring  the  air  sublime, 

With  clang  despised  the  ground,  under  a  cloud 
In  prospect.  There  the  eagle  and  the  stork 
On  cliffs  and  cedar-tops  their  eyries  build : 

Part  loosely  wing  the  region  ;  part,  more  wise, 

In  common,  ranged  in  figure,  wedge  their  way, 

Intelligent  of  seasons,  and  set  forth 

Their  aery  caravan,  high  over  seas 

Flying,  and  over  lands,  with  mutual  wing 

Easing  their  flight — so  steers  the  prudent  crane 

Her  annual  voyage,  borne  on  winds — the  air 

Floats  as  they  pass,  fanned  with  unnumbered  plumes ; 

From  branch  to  branch  the  smaller  birds  with  song 
Solaced  the  woods,  and  spread  their  painted  wings 
Till  even ;  nor  then  the  solemn  nightingale 

1  Tempest  the  ocean. — From  the  Italian  tempestare — bring  tempest  to  it. 

“  The  huge  dolphin  tempesting  the  wave.” — Pope. 

1  Leviathan. — The  whale  seems  to  be  intended. 

*  Their  callow  young. — Young  resembling  birds  unfledged. 

4  They  summed  their  pens.  Summed  is  a  word  from  falconry.  The  sense  here  is— put  on  their  wing  feathers. 


176 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VI  I.- 43b  407 


Ceased  warbling,  but  all  night  tuned  her  soft  lays. 

Others,  on  silver  lakes  and  rivers,  bathed 
Their  downy  breast ;  the  swan  with  arched  neck, 

Between  her  white  wings,  mantling  proudly,1  rows 

Her  state  with  oary  feet  ;3  yet  oft  they  quit 

The  dank,  and,  rising  on  stiff  pennons,  tower 

The  mid  aerial  sky.  Others  on  ground 

Walked  firm ;  the  crested  cock,  whose  clarion  sounds 

The  silent  hours,  and  the  other,  whose  gay  train 

Adorns  him,  coloured  with3  the  florid  hue 

Of  rainbows  and  starry  eyes.  The  waters  thus 

With  fish  replenished,  and  the  air  with  fowl, 

Evening  and  morn  solemnised  the  fifth  day. 

The  sixth,  and  of  creation  last,  arose 
With  evening  harps  and  matin ;  when  God  said, 

Let  the  earth  bring  forth  soul  living  in  her  kind, 

Cattle,  and  creeping  things,  and  beast  of  the  earth, 

Each  in  their  kind.  The  earth  obeyed,  and  straight 
Opening  her  fertile  womb,  teemed  at  'a  birth 
Innumerable  living  creatures,  perfect  forms, 

Limbed  and  full-grown.  Out  of  the  ground  up  rose, 

As  from  his  lair,  the  wild  beast,  where  he  wons‘ 

In  forest  wild,  in  thicket,  brake,  or  den  ; 

Among  the  trees  in  pairs  they  rose,  they  walked ; 

The  cattle  in  the  fields  and  meadows  green ; 

Those  rare  and  solitary,  these  in  flocks 
Pasturing  at  once,  and  in  broad  herds  upsprung. 

The  grassy  clods  now  calved  ;5  now  half  appeared 
The  tawny  lion,  pawing  to  get  free 
His  hinder  parts,  then  springs,  as  broke  from  bonds 
And  rampant  shakes  his  brinded  main  ;  the  ounce, 

The  libbard,  and  the  tiger,  as  the  mole, 

1  Mantling  proudly . — A  term  in  falconry  for  spreading  the  wings  like  a  mantle. 

3  Oary  feet. — Feet  which  act  like  oars. 

3  Coloured  with  the  florid  hue  of  rainbows. — The  peacock. 

4  Where  he  worn. — Anglo-Saxon  for  dwells. 

6  The  grassy  clods  now  calved.— Calved  is  an  old  English  expression  for  bringing  forth  generally.  Tlius  the  hinds 
are  said  to  calve.  (Job  xxxix. ;  Psalm  xxix.)  We  read  also  of  the  calves  of  the  lips.  (  Hosea  xiv.) 


33 


Meanwhile  the  tepirl  caves  and  fens,  and  shores, 
Their  brood  as  numerous  hatch. 


Booh  VI. ,  lines  416,  417, 


Book  VI I. -468-501] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


177 


Rising,  the  crumbled  earth  above  them  threw 
In  hillocks ;  the  swift  stag  from  underground 
Bore  up  his  branching  head ;  scarce  from  his  mould 
Behemoth,  biggest  horn  of  earth,1  upheaved 
His  vastness ;  fleeced  the  flocks  and  bleating  rose, 

As  plants ;  ambiguous  between  sea  and  land, 

The  river-horse  and  scaly  crocodile. 

At  once  came  forth  whatever  creeps  the  ground, 

Insect  or  worm.  Those  waved  their  limber  fans 
For  wings,  and  smallest  lineaments  exact 
In  all  the  liveries  decked  of  summer’s  pride, 

With  spots  of  gold  and  purple,  azure  and  green  : 

These,  as  a  line,  their  long  dimension  drew, 

Streaking  the  ground  with  sinuous  trace :  not  all 
Minims  of  Nature ;  some  of  serpent  kind, 

Wondrous  in  length  and  corpulence,  involved 
Their  snaky  folds,  and  added  wings.  First  crept 
The  parsimonious  emmet,  provident 
Of  future ;  in  small  room  large  heart  enclosed  ; 

Pattern  of  just  equality,  perhaps, 

Hereafter  joined  in  her  popular  tribes 
Of  commonalty.  Swarming,  next  appeared 
The  female  bee,  that  feeds  her  husband  drone 
Deliciously,  and  builds  her  waxen  cells 
With  honey  stored.  The  rest  are  numberless, 

And  thou  their  nature  know’st,  and  gavest  them  names. 
Needless  to  thee  repeated;  nor  unknown 
The  serpent,  subtlest  beast  of  all  the  field, 

Of  huge  extent  sometimes,  with  brazen  eyes 
The  airy  mane  terriffc,  though  to  thee 
Not  noxious,  hut  obedient  at  thy  call. 

Now  heaven  in  all  her  glory  shone,  and  rolled 
Her  motions,  as  the  great  first  Mover’s  hand 
First  wheeled  their  course ;  earth  in  her  rich  attire 


1 Behemoth ,  Uggesthorn  of  earth.—  Behemoth  in  Job  is  the  hippopotamous,  the  river-horse— here  it  means  the  elephant. 


17B 


PARADTSE  LOST. 


[Book  VII.- 502-537 


Consummate  lovely  smiled ;  air,  water,  earth, 

By  fowl,  fish,  beast,  was  flown,  was  swam,  was  walked, 
Frequent ;  and  of  the  sixth  day  yet  remained. 

There  wanted  yet  the  master-work,  the  end 
Of  all  yet  done  ;  a  creature,  who,  not  prone 
And  brute,  as  other  creatures,  hut  endued 
With  sanctity  of  reason,  might  erect 
His  stature,  and  upright,  with  front  serene, 

Govern  the  rest,  self-knowing ;  and  from  thence 
Magnanimous,  to  correspond  with  Heaven  ; 

But  grateful  to  acknowledge  whence  his  good 

Descends  ;  thither,  with  heart,  and  voice,  and  eyes, 

Directed  in  devotion,  to  adore 

And  worship  God  supreme,  who  made  him  chief 

Of  all  his  works :  therefore  the  Omnipotent 

Eternal  Father — for  where  is  not  He 

Present  ? — thus  to  his  Son  audibly  spake  : 

Let  us  make  now  Man  in  our  image,  man 
In  our  similitude,  and  let  them  rule 
Over  the  fish  and  fowl  of  sea  and  air, 

Beast  of  the  field,  and  over  all  the  earth, 

And  every  creeping  thing  that  creeps  the  ground. 

This  said,  he  formed  thee,  Adam,  thee,  0  man, 

Dust  of  the  ground,  and  in  thy  nostrils  breathed 
The  breath  of  life ;  in  His  own  image  he 
Created  thee,  in  the  image  of  God 
Express,  and  thou  becamest  a  living  soul. 

Male  he  created  thee ;  but  thy  consort, 

Female,  for  race;  then  blessed  mankind,  and  said, 

Be  fruitful,  multiply,  and  fill  the  Earth, 

Subdue  it,  and  throughout  dominion  hold 
Over  fish  of  the  sea,  and  fowl  of  the  air, 

And  every  living  thing  that  moves  on  the  earth, 

Wherever  thus  created,  for  no  place 

Is  yet  distinct  by  name,  thence,  as  thou  know'st, 

He  brought  thee  into  this  delicious  grove. 


Book  V 11. —538-573] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


179 


This  garden  planted  with  the  trees  of  God, 

Delectable  both  to  behold  and  taste ; 

And  freely  all  their  pleasant  fruit  for  food 

Gave  thee.  All  sorts  are  here  that  all  the  earth  yields, 

Variety  without  end.  But  of  the  tree, 

Which  tasted,  works  knowledge  of  good  and  evil, 

Thou  mayest  not ;  in  the  day  thou  eat’st  thou  diest, 
Death  is  the  penalty  imposed.  Beware, 

And  govern  well  thy  appetite  ;  lest  Sin 
Surprise  thee,  and  her  black  attendant,  Death. 

Here  finished  He,  and  all  that  he  had  made 
Viewed,  and  behold  all  was  entirely  good. 

So  even  and  morn  accomplished  the  sixth  day. 

Yet  not  till  the  Creator  from  his  work 
Desisting,  though  unwearied,  up  returned, 

Up  to  the  Heaven  of  Heavens,  his  high  abode, 

Thence  to  behold  this  new  created  world, 

The  addition  of  his  empire,  how  it  shewed 
In  prospect  from  his  throne,  how  good,  how  fair, 
Answering  His  great  idea.  Up  he  rode, 

Followed  wfith  acclamation,  and  the  sound 
Symphonious  of  ten  thousand  harps,  that  tuned 
Angelic  harmonies.  The  earth,  the  air 
Besounded — thou  remember’st,  for  thou  heardst — ■ 

The  heavens  and  all  the  constellations  rung, 

The  planets  in  their  station  listening  stood, 

While  the  bright  pomp  ascended  jubilant. 

Open,  ye  everlasting  gates !  they  sung, 

Open,  ye  heavens !  your  living  doors ;  let  in 
The  great  Creator,  from  his  work  returned 
Magnificent,  his  six  days’  work,  a  world ; 

Open,  and  henceforth  oft ;  for  God  will  deign 
To  visit  oft  the  dwellings  of  just  men, 

Delighted,  and  with  frequent  intercourse 
Thither  will  send  his  winged  messengers 
On  errands  of  supernal  grace.  So  sung 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VII.-  574-609 


The  glorious  train  ascending.  He,  through  heaven, 

That  opened  wide  her  blazing  portals,  led 
To  God's  eternal  house  direct  the  way — 

A  broad  and  ample  road,  whose  dust  is  gold, 

And  pavement  stars,  as  stars  to  thee  appear, 

Seen  in  the  galaxy,  that  milky  way, 

Which  nightly,  as  a  circling  zone,  thou  seest 

Powdered  with  stars.  And  now  on  earth  the  seventh 

Evening  arose  in  Eden,  for  the  sun 

Was  set,  and  twilight  from  the  east  came  on, 

Forerunning  night ;  when  at  the  holy  mount 

Of  heaven’s  high-seated  top,  the  imperial  throne 

Of  Godhead  fixed  for  ever  firm  and  sure, 

The  Filial  Power  arrived,  and  sat  him  down 
With  his  great  Father,  for  He  also  went 
Invisible,  yet  stayed — such  privilege 
Hath  Omnipresence — and  the  work  ordained, 

Author  and  end  of  all  things  :  and,  from  work 
Nowt  resting,  blessed  and  hallowed  the  seventh  dny, 

As  resting  on  that  day  from  all  his  work. 

But  not  in  silence  holy  kept :  the  harp 
Had  work,  and  rested  not;  the  solemn  pipe,  . 

And  dulcimer,  all  organs  of  sweet  stop, 

All  sounds  on  fret  by  string  or  golden  wire, 

Tempered  soft  tunings,  intermixed  with  voice 
Choral  or  unison :  of  incense  clouds, 

Fuming  from  golden  censers,  hid  the  mount. 

Creation  and  the  six  days’  acts  they  sung : 

Great  are  thy  works,  Jehovah  !  infinite 

Thy  power !  what  thought  can  measure  Thee,  or  tongue 

Belate  Thee?  Greater  now  in  thy  return 

Than  from  the  giant  Angels.  Thee  that  day 

Thy  thunders  magnified ;  but  to  create 

Is  greater  than,  created,  to  destroy. 

Who  can  impair  Thee,  Mighty  King,  or  bound 
Thy  empire?  Easily  the  proud  attempt 


And  now  on  earth  the  seventh 
Evening  arose  in  Eden. 


Boole  VII,  lines  581,  582. 


Book  VII.— 610-640] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


181 


Of  spirits  apostate,  and  their  counsels  vain, 

Thou  hast  repelled  ;  while  impiously  they  thought 
Thee  to  diminish,  and  from  thee  withdraw 
The  number  of  thy  worshipers.  Who  seeks 
To  lessen  Thee,  against  his  purpose  serves 
To  manifest  the  more  thy  might :  his  evil 
Thou  usest,  and  from  thence  createst  more  good. 
Witness  this  new-made  world,  another  heaven, 

From  Heaven-gate  not  far,  founded,  in  view, 

On  the  clear  hyaline,1  the  glassy  sea  ; 

Of  amplitude  almost  immense,  with  stars 
Numerous,  and  every  star,  perhaps,  a  world 
Of  destined  habitation;  but  thou  know’st 
Their  seasons.  Among  these  the  seat  of  men, 

Earth  with  her  nether  ocean  circumfused, 

Their  pleasant  dwelling-place.  Thrice  happy  men 
And  sons  of  men,  whom  God  hath  thus  advanced ! 
Created  in  His  image  there  to  dwell 
And  worship  him ;  and  in  reward  to  rule 
Over  his  works,  on  earth,  in  sea,  or  air, 

And  multiply  a  race  of  worshippers 
Holy  and  just ;  thrice  happy,  if  they  know 
Their  happiness,  and  persevere  upright  ! 

So  sung  they,  and  the  Empyrean  rung 
With  hallelujahs :  thus  was  Sabbath  kept. 

And  thy  request  think  now  fulfilled,  that  asked 
How  first  this  world  and  face  of  things  began, 

And  what  before  thy  memory  was  done 
From  the  beginning,  that  posterity, 

Informed  by  thee,  might  know — if  else  thou  seek’st 
Aught  not  surpassing  human  measure,  say. 


1 Hyaline . — Or.,  glass,  the  glassy  sea. 


BOOK  VIII. 


Adam  inquires  concerning  celestial  motions;  is  doubtfully  answered,  and  exhorted  to  search  rather  things  more 
worthy  of  knowledge;  Adam  assents;  and,  still  desirous  to  detain  Raphael,  relates  to  him  what  he  remem¬ 
bered  since  his  own  creation;  his  placing  in  Paradise;  his  talk  with  God  concerning  solitude  and  fit  society, 
his  first  meeting  and  nuptials  with  Eve;  his  discourse  with  the  angel  thereupon,  who,  after  admonitions  re’ 
peated,  departs. 

r  J^'IIE  angel  ended,  and  in  Adam’s  ear 

So  charming  left  his  voice,  that  he  awhile 
Thought  him  still  speaking,  still  stood  fixed  to  hear 
Then,  as  new-waked,  thus  gratefully  replied : 

What  thanks  sufficient,  or  what  recompense 
Equal,  have  I  to  render  thee,  divine 
Historian,  who  thus  largely  hast  allayed 
The  thirst  I  had  of  knowledge,  and  vouchsafed 
This  friendly  condescension,  to  relate 
Things  else  by  me  unsearchable ;  now  heard 
With  wonder,  but  delight,  and,  as  is  due, 

With  glory  attributed  to  the  high 
Creator?  Something  yet  of  doubt  remains, 

Which  only  thy  solution  can  resolve. 

When  I  behold  this  goodly  frame,  this  world, 

Of  Heaven  and  Earth  consisting,  and  compute 
Their  magnitudes ;  this  earth,  a  spot,  a  grain, 

An  atom,  with  the  firmament  compared 

And  all  her  numbered  stars,  that  seem  to  roll 

Spaces  incomprehensible — for  such 

Their  distance  argues,  and  their  swift  return 

Diurnal — merely  to  officiate  light 

Hound  this  opacous  earth,  this  punctual  spot,3 

One  day  and  night ;  in  all  their  vast  survey 

Useless  besides ;  reasoning,  I  oft  admire, 

Stood  fixed  to  henr.  “  Stood  ”  here  should  evidently  have  been  “  sat.”  The  first  three  lines  of  this  book  were 
*n  "ie  seconi^  in  which  the  poem  was  made  to  consist  of  twelve  books  instead  of  ten. 

This  punctual  s^wt. — Punctum,  a  mere  point  in  comparison  with  the  universe. 


Book  VIII.— 26-61] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


183 


How  nature,  wise  and  frugal,  could  commit 
Such  disproportions,  with  superfluous  hand 
So  many  nobler  bodies  to  create, 

Greater,  so  manifold,  to  this  one  use, 

For  aught  appears,  and  on  their  orbs  impose 
Such  restless  revolution,  day  by  day 
Eepeated ;  while  the  sedentary  earth, 

That  better  might  with  far  less  compass  move, 

Served  by  more  noble  than  herself,  attains 
Her  end  without  least  motion,  and  receives, 

As  tribute,  such  a  sumless  journey  brought 
Of  incorporeal  speed,  her  warmth  and  light — 

Speed,  to  describe  whose  swiftness  number  fails. 

So  spake  our  sire,  and  by  his  countenance  seemed 
Entering  on  studious  thoughts  abstruse ;  which  Eve 
Perceiving,  where  she  sat  retired  in  sight, 

With  lowliness  majestic  from  her  seat, 

And  grace  that  won  who  sawT  to  wish  her  stay, 

Pose,  and  went  forth  among  her  fruits  and  flowers, 

To  visit  how  they  prospered,  bud  and  bloom, 

Her  nursery ;  they  at  her  coming  sprung, 

And,  touched  by  her  fair  tendance  gladlier  grew. 

Yet  went  she  not,  as  not  with  such  discourse 

Delighted,  or  not  capable  her  ear 

Of  what  was  high :  such  pleasure  she  reserved, 

Adam  relating,  she  sole  auditress ; 

Her  husband  the  relater  she  preferred 
Before  the  angel,  and  of  him  to  ask 
Chose  rather ;  he,  she  knew,  would  intermix 
Grateful  digressions,  and  solve  high  dispute 
With  conjugal  caresses  from  his  lip, 

Not  words  alone  pleased  her.  0  !  when  meet  now 
Such  pairs,  in  love  and  mutual  honour  joined  ? 

With  goddess-like  demeanour  forth  she  went, 

Not  unattended,  for  on  her,  as  queen, 

A  pomp  of  winning  graces  waited  still, 


184 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VIII.— 02-97 


And  from  about  her  shot  darts  of  desire 

Into  all  eyes,  to  wish  her  still  in  sight. 

And  Raphael  now,  to  Adam’s  doubt  proposed, 

Benevolent  and  facile  thus  replied  : 

To  ask  or  search,  I  blame  thee  not ;  for  heaven 

Is  as  the  book  of  God  before  thee  set, 

Wherein  to  read  his  wondrous  works,  and  learn 

His  seasons,  hours,  or  days,  or  months,  or  years. 

This  to  attain,  whether  heaven  move  or  earth, 

Imports  not,  if  thou  reckon  right ;  the  rest 

0 

From  man  or  angel  the  great  Architect 
Did  wisely  to  conceal,  and  not  divulge 
His  secrets,  to  be  scanned  by  them  who  ought 
Rather  admire  ;  or,  if  they  list  to  try 
Conjecture,  he  his  fabric  of  the  heavens 
Hath  left  to  their  disputes — perhaps  to  move 
His  laughter  at  their  quaint  opinions  wide 
Hereafter,  when  they  come  to  model  heaven 
And  calculate  the  stars,  how  they  will  wield 
The  mighty  frame,  how  build,  unbuild,  contrive, 

To  save  appearances,  how  gird  the  sphere 
With  centric  and  eccentric  scribbled  o’er. 

Cycle  and  epicyle,  orb  in  orb. 

Already  by  thy  reasoning  this  I  guess, 

Who  art  to  lead  thy  offspring,  and  supposcst 
That  bodies  bright  and  greater  should  not  serve 
The  less,  nor  bright  ;  nor  heaven  such  journeys  run, 
Each  sitting  still,  when  she  alone  receives 
The  benefit.  Consider  first,  that  great 
Or  bright  infers  not  excellence :  the  earth, 

Though,  in  comparison  of  heaven,  so  small, 

Nor  glistering,  may  of  solid  good  contain 
More  plenty  than  the  sun  that  barren  shines ; 

Whose  virtue  on  itself  works  no  effect, 

But  in  the  fruitful  earth,  there  first  received. 

His  beams,  inactive  else,  their  vigour  find. 


Book  VJIL— 98-1 33 J 


PARADISE  LOST. 


185 


Yet  not  to  earth  are  those  bright  luminaries 
Officious,  but  to  thee,  earth’s  habitant. 

And  for  the  heaven’s  wide  circuit,  let  it  speak 
The  Maker’s  high  magnificence,  who  built 
So  spacious,  and  his  line  stretched  out  so  far, 

That  man  may  know  he  dwells  not  in  his  own, 

An  edifice  too  large  for  him  to  fill, 

Lodged  in  a  small  partition,  and  the  rest 
Ordained  for  uses  to  his  Lord  best  known. 

The  swiftness  of  those  circles  attribute, 

Though  numberless,  to  his  omnipotence, 

That  to  corporeal  substances  could  add 
Speed  almost  spiritual.  Me  thou  think’st  not  slow, 
Who  since  the  morning  hour  set  out  from  Heaven, 
Where  God  resides,  and  ere  mid-day  arrived 
In  Eden — distance  inexpressible 
By  numbers  that  have  name.  But  this  I  urge, 
Admitting  motion  in  the  heavens,  to  shew 
Invalid  that  which  thee  to  doubt  it  moved ; 

Hot  that  I  so  affirm,  though  so  it  seem 
To  thee  who  hast  thy  dwelling  here  on  earth. 

God,  to  remove  his  ways  from  human  sense, 

Placed  heaven  from  earth  so  far,  that  earthly  sight, 
If  it  presume,  might  err  in  things  too  high, 

And  no  advantage  gain.  What  if  the  sun 
Be  centre  to  the  world,  and  other  stars, 

By  his  attractive  virtue  and  their  own 
Incited,  dance  about  him  various  rounds  ! 

Their  wandering  course,  now  high,  now  low,  then  hid, 
Progressive,  retrograde,  or  standing  still, 

In  six  thou  seest ;  and  what  if  seventh  to  these, 

The  planet  Earth,  so  steadfast  though  she  seem, 
Insensibly  three  different  motions  move  ? 

Which  else  to  several  spheres  thou  must  ascribe, 
Moved  contrary  with  thwart  obliquities ; 

Or  save  the  sun  his  labour,  and  that  swift 


186 


PARADISE  LOST.  [Book  VIII.— 134-167 

Nocturnal  and  diurnal  rhomb1  supposed, 

Invisible  else  above  all  stars,  the  wheel 
Of  day  and  night  which  needs  not  thy  belief, 

If  earth,  industrious  of  herself,  fetch  day 
Travelling  east,  and  with  her  part  averse 
From  the  sun’s  beam  meet  night,  her  other  part 
Still  luminous  by  his  ray.  What  if  that  light, 

Sent  from  her  through  the  wide  transpicuous  air, 

To  the  terrestial  moon  be  as  a  star, 

Enlightening  her  by  day,  as  she  by  night 
This  earth?  reciprocal,  if  land  be  there, 

Fields  and  inhabitants.  Her  spots  thou  seest 
As  clouds,  and  clouds  may  rain,  and  rain  produce 
Fruits  in  her  softened  soil,  for  some  to  eat 
Allotted  there ;  and  other  suns,  perhaps, 

With  their  attendant  moons,  thou  wilt  descry, 

Communicating  male  and  female  light, 

Which  two  great  sexes  animate  the  world, 

Stored  in  each  orb,  perhaps,  with  some  that  live. 

For  such  vast  room  in  nature2  unpossesed 
By  living  soul,  desert  and  desolate, 

Only  to  shine,  yet  scarce  to  contribute 
Each  orb  a  glimpse  of  light,  conveyed  so  far 
Down  to  this  habitable,  which  returns 
Light  back  to  them,  is  obvious  to  dispute. 

But  whether  thus  these  things,  or  whether  not ; 

Whether  the  sun,  predominant  in  heaven, 

Else  on  the  earth,  or  earth  rise  on  the  sun, 

He  from  the  east  his  flaming  road  begin, 

Or  she  from  west  her  silent  course  advance, 

With  inoffensive  pace  that  spinning  sleeps 
On  her  soft  axle,  while  she  paces  even, 

And  bears  thee  soft  with  the  smooth  air  along, 

Solicit  not  thy  thoughts  with  matters  hid. 

1  Diurnal  rhomb. — A  term  in  geometry  denoting  obliqueness. 

2  For  such  vast  room  in  nature. — For  that  such  vast  room  there  is  in  nature. 


Book  VIII.— 168-203] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


187 


Leave  them  to  God  above.  Him  serve  and  fear. 

Of  other  creatures,  as  Him  pleases  best, 

Wherever  placed,  let  Him  dispose  ;  joy  thou 
In  what  he  gives  to  thee,  this  Paradise 
And  thy  fair  Eve  ;  heaven  is  for  thee  too  high 
To  know  what  passes  there ;  he  lowly  wise : 

Think  only  what  concerns  thee,  and  thy  being ; 

Dream  not  of  other  worlds,  what  creatures  there 
Live,  in  what  state,  condition  or  degree, 

Contented  that  thus  far  hath  been  revealed, 

Not  of  earth  only,  hut  of  Highest  Heaven. 

To  whom  thus  Adam,  cleared  of  doubt,  replied : 
How  fully  hast  thou  satisfied  me,  pure 
Intelligence  of  Heaven,  Angel  serene ! 

And,  freed  from  intricacies,  taught  to  live 
The  easiest  way,  nor  with  perplexing  thoughts 
To  interrupt  the  sweet  of  life,  from  which 
God  hath  hid  dwell  far  off  all  anxious  cares, 

And  not  molest  us,  unless  we  ourselves 

Seek  them  with  wandering  thoughts,  and  notions  vain. 

But  apt  the  mind  or  fancy  is  to  rove 

Unchecked,  and  of  her  roving  is  no  end ; 

Till  warned,  or  by  experience  taught,  she  learn, 

That  not  to  know  at  large  of  things  remote 
From  use,  obscure  and  subtle,  but  to  know 
That  which  before  us  lies  in  daily  life, 

Is  the  prime  wisdom :  what  is  more,  is  fume, 

Or  emptiness,  or  fond  impertinence, 

And  renders  us,  in  things  that  most  concern, 
Unpractised,  unprepared,  and  still  to  seek. 

Therefore  from  this  high  pitch  let  us  descend 
A  lower  flight,  and  speak  of  tilings  at  hand, 

Useful,  whence,  haply,  mention  may  arise 
Of  something  not  unseasonable  to  ask, 

By  sufferance,  and  thy  wonted  favour,  deigned. 

Thee  I  have  heard  relating  what  was  done 


188 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VIK.-  204-237 


Ere  my  remembrance.  Now,  hear  me  relate 

My  story,  which,  perhaps,  thou  hast  not  heard  ; 

And  day  is  yet  not  spent,  till  then  thou  seest 

How  subtly  to  detain  thee  I  devise, 

Inviting  thee  to  hear  while  I  relate ; 

Fond,1  were  it  not  in  hope  of  thy  reply. 

For,  while  I  sit  with  thee,  I  seem  in  heaven ; 

And  sweeter  thy  discourse  is  to  my  ear 

Than  fruits  of  palm-tree  pleasantest  to  thirst 

And  hunger  both,  from  labour,  at  the  hour 

Of  sweet  repast ;  they  satiate,  and  soon  fill, 

Though  pleasant ;  but  thy  words,  with  grace  divine 

Imbued,  bring  to  their  sweetness  no  satiety. 

To  whom  thus  Eaphael  answered  heavenly  meek : 

Nor  are  thy  lips  ungraceful,  sire  of  men, 

Nor  tongue  ineloquent ;  for  God  on  thee 

Abundantly  his  gifts  hath  also  poured, 

Inward  and  outward  both,  his  image  fair : 

Speaking,  or  mute,  all  comeliness  and  grace 

Attends  thee,  and  each  word,  each  motion,  forms. 

$ 

Nor  less  think  we  in  heaven  of  thee  on  earth 
Than  of  our  fellow-servant,  and  inquire 
Gladly  into  the  ways  of  God  with  Man ; 

For  God,  we  see,  hath  honoured  thee,  and  set 
On  man  his  equal  love.  Say  therefore  on ; 

For  I  that  day  was  absent,  as  befell, 

Bound  on  a  voyage  uncouth  and  obscure, 

Far  on  excursion  toward  the  gates  of  hell ; 

Squared  in  full  legion — such  command  we  had — 

To  see  that  none  thence  issued  forth  a  spy, 

Or  enemy,  while  God  was  in  his  work ; 

Lest  he,  incensed  at  such  eruption  bold, 

Destruction  wyith  creation  might  have  mixed. 

Not  that  they  durst  without  his  leave  attempt ; 


1  Fun tv — Foolish. 


Book  Vill.— 238-271 J 


PAUADISE  LOST. 


189 


But  us  he  sends  upon  his  high  behests 

For  state,  as  sovereign  King,  and  to  inure 

Our  prompt  obedience.  Fast  we  found,  fast  shut, 

The  dismal  gates,  and  barricadoed  strong. 

But,  long  ere  our  approaching,  heard  within 
Noise,  other  than  the  sound  of  dance  or  song; 
Torment,  and  loud  lament,  and  furious  rage. 

Glad  we  returned  up  to  the  coasts  of  light 
Ere  Sabbath  evening.  So  we  had  in  charge. 

But  thy  relation  now ;  for  I  attend, 

Pleased  with  thy  words  no  less  than  thou  with  mine. 

So  spake  the  godlike  Power,  and  thus  our  Sire : 
For  man  to  tell  how  human  life  began 
Is  hard ;  for  who  himself  beginning  knew  ? 

Desire  with  thee  still  longer  to  converse 
Induced  me.  As  new  waked  from  soundest  sleep 
Soft  on  the  llowery  herb  I  found  me  laid, 

In  balmy  sweat,  which  with  his  beams  the  sun 
Soon  dried,  and  on  the  reeking  moisture  fed. 

Straight  toward  heaven  my  wondering  eyes  I  turned, 
And  gazed  awhile  the  ample  sky ;  till,  raised 
By  quick  instinctive  motion,  up  I  sprung, 

As  thitherward  endeavouring,  and  upright 
Stood  on  my  feet.  About  me  round  I  saw 
Hill,  dale,  and  shady  woods,  and  sunny  plains, 

And  liquid  lapse  of  murmuring  streams ;  by  these, 
Creatures  that  lived  and  moved,  and  walked  or  flew  ; 
Birds  on  the  branches  warbling ;  all  things  smiled ; 
With  fragrance  and  with  joy  my  heart  o’erflowed. 
Myself  I  then  perused,1  and  limb  by  limb 
Surveyed,  and  sometimes  went,  and  sometimes  ran 
With  supple  joints,  as  lively  vigour  led. 

But  who  I  was,  or  where,  or  from  what  cause, 

Knew  not.  To  speak  I  tried,  and  forthwith  spake ; 


1  Perused.  — Examined. 


190 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VIII.— 272-307 


My  tongue  obeyed,  and  readily  could  name 
Whatever  I  saw.  Thou  Sun,  said  I,  fair  light, 

And  thou  enlightened  Earth,  so  fresh  and  gay, 

Ye  hills,  and  dales,  ye  rivers,  woods,  and  plains, 

And  ye  that  live  and  move,  fair  creatures,  tell, 

Tell  if  ye  saw,  how  came  I  thus,  how  here  ? 

Not  of  myself ;  by  some  great  Maker  then, 

In  goodness  and  in  power  pre-eminent. 

Tell  me  how  may  I  know  Him,  how  adore  ; 

From  whom  I  have  that  thus  I  move  and  live, 

And  feel  that  I  am  happier  than  I  know? 

While  thus  I  called,  and  strayed  I  knew  not  whither, 
From  where  I  first  drew  air,  and  first  beheld 
This  happy  light ;  when  answer  none  returned, 

On  a  green  shady  bank,  profuse  of  flowers, 

Pensive  I  sat  me  down  :  there  gentle  sleep 
First  found  me,  and  with  soft  oppression  seized 
My  drowsed  sense,  untroubled,  though  I  thought 
I  then  was  passing  'to  my  former  state 
Insensibly,  and  forthwith  to  dissolve. 

When  suddenly  stobd  at  my  head  a  dream, 

Whose  inward  apparition  gently  moved 
My  fancy  to  believe  I  yet  had  being, 

And  lived.  One  came,  me  thought,  of  shape  divine. 
And  said,  Thy  mansion  wants  thee,  Adam  ;  rise, 

First  man,  of  men  innumerable  ordained 
First  father !  Called  by  thee,  I  come  thy  guide 
To  the  garden  of  bliss,  thy  seat  prepared. 

So  saying,  by  the  hand  he  took  me,  raised, 

And  over  fields  and  waters,  as  in  air 
Smooth  sliding  without  step,  last  led  me  up 
A  woody  mountain,  whose  high  top  was  plain, 

A  circuit  wide  enclosed,  with  goodliest  trees 
Planted,  with  walks  and  bowers  ;  that  what  I  saw 
Of  earth  before  scarce  pleasant  seemed.  Each  tree, 
Loaden  with  fairest  fruit,  that  hung  to  the  eye 


Book  VIII.— 308-341] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


191 


Tempting,  stirred  in  me  sudden  appetite 
To  pluck  and  eat ;  whereat  I  waked,  and  found 
Before  mine  eyes  all  real,  as  the  dream 
Had  lively  shadowed.  Here  had  now  begun 
My  wandering,  had  not  He,  who  was  my  guide 
Up  hither,  from  among  the  trees  appeared, 

Presence  Divine.  Rejoicing,  hut  with  awe, 

In  adoration  at  His  feet  I  fell 

Submiss.1  He  reared  me,  and,  Whom  thou  sough t’st  1  am, 
Said  mildly,  Author  of  all  this  thou  seest 
Above,  or  round  about  thee,  or  beneath. 

This  Paradise  I  give  thee ;  count  it  thine 
To  till  and  keep,  and  of  the  fruit  to  eat. 

Of  every  tree  that  in  the  garden  grows 

Eat  freely  with  glad  heart  ;  fear  here  no  dearth. 

But  of  the  tree,  whose  operation  brings 
Knowledge  of  good  and  ill,  which  I  have  set 
The  pledge  of  thy  obedience  and  thy  faith, 

Amid  the  garden  by  the  tree  of  life — 

Remember  what  I  warn  thee — shun  to  taste, 

And  shun  the  bitter  consequence ;  for  know, 

The  day  thou  eat’st  thereof,  my  sole  command 
Transgressed,  inevitably  thou  shalt  die, 

Prom  that  day  mortal,  and  this  happy  state 
Shalt  lose,  expelled  from  hence  into  a  world 
Of  woe  and  sorrow.  Sternly  He  pronounced 
The  rigid  interdiction,  which  resounds 
Yet  dreadful  in  mine  ear,  though  in  my  choice 
Not  to  incur;  but  soon  His  clear  aspect 
Returned,  and  gracious  purpose  thus  renewed : 

Not  only  these  fair  bounds,  but  all  the  earth 
To  thee  and  to  thy  race  I  give ;  as  lords 
Possess  it,  and  all  things  that  therein  live, 

Or  live  in  sea,  or  air  ;  beast,  fish,  and  fowl. 


1  Submiss. — Bowing  down,  submissive. 


192 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VIII.-342-375 


In  siofn  whereof,  each  bird  and  beast  behold 
After  their  kinds,  I  bring  them  to  receive 
From  thee  their  names,1  and  pay  thee  fealty 
With  low  subjection.  Understand  the  same 
Of  fish  within  her  watery  residence, 

Not  hither  summoned,  since  they  cannot  change 
Their  element  to  draw  the  thinner  air. 

As  thus  he  spake,  each  bird  and  beast  behold, 

Approaching  two  and  two ;  these  cowering  low 
With  blandishment,  each  bird  stooped  on  his  wing. 

I  named  them  as  they  passed,  and  understood 
Their  nature  ;  with  such  knowledge  God  endued  ■ 

My  sudden  apprehension.  But  in  these 
I  found  not  what  me  thought  I  wanted  still ; 

And  to  the  heavenly  vision  thus  presumed  : 

Oh,  by  what  name,  for  Thou  above  all  these, 

Above  mankind,  or  aught  than  mankind  higher, 

Surpassest  far  my  naming  ;  how  may  I 
Adore  thee,  Author  of  this  universe, 

And  all  this  good  to  man  ?  for  whose  well-being 
So  amply,  and  with’  hands  so  liberal, 

Thou  hast  provided  all  things.  But  with  me 
I  see  not  who  partakes.  In  solitude 
What  happiness  ?  Who  can  enjoy  alone, 

Or,  all  enjoying,  what  contentment  find? 

Thus  I,  presumptuous ;  and  the  Vision  bright, 

As  with  a  smile  more  brightened,  thus  replied : 

What  call’st  thou  solitude?  Is  not  the  Earth 
With  various  living  creatures,  and  the  air, 

Replenished,  and  all  these  at  thy  command 
To  come  and  play  before  thee?  Know’st  thou  not 
Their  language  and  their  ways?  They  also  know, 

And  reason  not  contemptibly ;  with  these 
Find  pastime,  and  bear  rule;  thy  realm  is  large. 

1  From  thee  their  names. — “The  Lord  God  formed  every  beast  of  the  field,  and  every  fowl  of  the  air,  and  brought 
them  unto  Adam  to  see  what  he  would  call  them  :  and  whatsoever  Adam  called  every  living  creature,  t hat  was  the 
name  thereof.”  (Gen.  ii.  19.) 


Book  VIII.— 376-411] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


193 


So  spake  the  Universal  Lord,  and  seemed 
So  ordering.  I,  with  leave  of  speech  implored, 

And  humble  deprecation,  thus  replied  : 

Let  not  my  words  olfend  thee,  heavenly  Power j 
My  Maker,  be  propitious,  while  I  speak. 

Hast  thou  not  made  me  here  thy  substitute, 

And  these  inferior  far  beneath  me  set  ? 

Among  unequals  what  society 

Can  sort,  what  harmony,  or  true  delight  ? 

Which  must  be  mutual,  in  proportion  due 
Given  and  received ;  hut,  in  disparity, 

The  one  intense,  the  other  still  remiss, 

Cannot  well  suit  with  either,  but  soon  prove 
Tedious  alike.  Of  fellowship  I  speak 
Such  as  I  seek,  fit  to  participate 
All  rational  delight,  wherein  the  brute 
Cannot  be  human  consort.  They  rejoice 
Each  with  their  kind,  lion  with  lioness  ; 

So  fitly  them  in  pairs  thou  hast  combined  ; 

Much  less  can  bird  with  beast,  or  fish  with  fowl, 

So  well  converse,  nor  with  the  ox  the  ape  ; 

Worse,  then,  can  man  with  beast,  and  least  of  all. 

Whereto  the  Almighty  answered,  not  displeased  : 
A  nice  and  subtle  happiness,  I  see 
Thou  to  thyself  proposest,  in  the  choice 
Of  thy  associates,  Adam,  and  wilt  taste 
No  pleasure,  though  in  pleasure,  solitary. 

What  think’st  thou,  then,  of  me,  and  this  my  state? 
Seem  I  to  thee  sufficiently  possessed 
Of  happiness,  or  not,  who  am  alone 
From  all  eternity  ?  for  none  I  know 
Second  to  me,  or  like,  equal  much  less. 

How  have  I,  then,  with  whom  to  hold  converse, 

Save  with  the  creatures  which  I  made,  and  those 

To  me  inferior,  infinite  descents 

Beneath  what  other  creatures  are  to  thee  ? 


194 


PAKAD1SE  LOST. 


[Book  VilL-  412-447 


He  ceased ;  I  lowly  answered :  To  attain 
The  height  and  depth  of  Thy  eternal  ways 
All  human  thoughts  come  short,  Supreme  of  things ! 
Thou  in  Thyself  art  perfect,  and  in  Thee 
Is  no  deficience  found :  not  so  is  Man, 

But  in  degree,  the  cause  of  his  desire, 

By  conversation  with  his  like,  to  help 
Or  solace  his  defects.  No  need  that  Thou 
Shouldst  propagate,  already  infinite, 

And  through  all  numbers  absolute,  though  one 
But  man  by  number  is  to  manifest 
His  single  imperfection,  and  beget 
Like  of  his  like,  his  image  multiplied, 

In  unity  defective ;  which  requires 
Collateral  love,  and  dearest  amity. 

Thou  in  thy  secrecy,  although  alone, 

Best  with  Thyself  accompanied,  seek’st  not 
Social  communication ;  yet,  so  pleased, 

Canst  raise  thy  creature  to  what  height  thou  wilt 
Of  union  or  communion  deified  : 

I,  by  conversing,  cannot  these  erect 
From  prone,  nor  in  their  ways  complacence  find. 
Thus  I,  emboldened,  spake,  and  freedom  used 
Permissive,  and  acceptance  found ;  which  gained 
This  answer  from  the  gracious  Voice  divine  : 

Thus  far  to  try  thee,  Adam,  I  was  pleased  ; 
And  find  thee  knowing,  not  of  beasts  alone, 

Which  thou  hast  rightly  named,  hut  of  thyself; 
Expressing  well  the  spirit  within  thee  free, 

My  image,  not  imparted  to  the  brute  ; 

Whose  fellowship,  therefore,  unmeet  for  thee. 

Good  reason  was  thou  freely  shouldst  dislike, 

And  be  so  minded  still.  I,  ere  thou  spakest, 

Knew  it  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone ; 

And  no  such  company  as  then  thou  saw’st 
Intended  thee ;  for  trial  only  brought, 


Book  VIII.— 448-483] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


195 


To  see  how  thou  couldsi  judge  of  fit  and  meet. 

What  next  I  bring  shall  please  thee,  he  assured, 

Thy  likeness,  thy  fit  help,  thy  other  self, 

Thy  wish  exactly  to  thy  heart’s  desire. 

He  ended,  or  I  heard  no  more ;  for  now 
My  earthly  by  His  heavenly  overpowered, 

Which  it  had  long  stood  under,  strained  to  the  height 
In  that  celestial  colloquy  sublime, 

As  with  an  object  that  excels  the  sense, 

Dazzled  and  spent,  sunk  down,  and  sought  repair 
Of  sleep,  which  instantly  fell  on  me,  called 
By  nature  as  in  aid,  and  closed  mine  eyes. 

Mine  eyes  he  closed,  but  open  left  the  cell 
Of  fancy,  my  internal  sight  ;  by  which, 

Abstract,  as  in  a  trance,  methought  I  saw, 

Though  sleeping,  where  I  lay,  and  saw  the  shape 
Still  glorious  before  whom  awake  I  stood, 

Who,  stooping,  opened  my  left  side,  and  took 
From  thence  a  rib,  with  cordial  spirits  warm, 

And  life-blood  streaming  fresh.  Wide  wras  the  wound, 
But  suddenly  with  flesh  filled  up  and  healed. 

The  rib  he  formed  and  fashioned  with  his  hands ; 
Under  His  forming  hands  a  creature  grew, 

Man-like,  but  different  sex  ;  so  lovely  fair, 

That  what  seemed  fair  in  all  the  world,  seemed  now 
Mean,  or  in  her  summed  up,  in  her  contained, 

And  in  her  looks,  which,  from  that  time,  infused 
Sweetness  unto  my  heart  unfelt  before, 

And  into  all  things,  from  her  air,  inspired 
The  spirit  of  love  and  amorous  delight. 

She  disappeared,  and  left  me  dark ;  I  waked 
To  find  her,  or  for  ever  to  deplore 
Her  loss,  and  other  pleasures  all  abjure  ; 

When  out  of  hope,  behold  her,  not  far  off, 

Such  as  I  saw  her  in  my  dream,  adorned 
With  what  all  earth  or  heaven  could  bestow 


196 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VIII.  484  517 


To  make  her  amiable.  On  she  came, 

Led  by  her  heavenly  Maker,  though  unseen, 

And  guided  by  his  voice ;  nor  uninformed 

Of  nuptial  sanctity  and  marriage  rites. 

Grace  was  in  all  her  steps,  heaven  in  her  eye, 

In  every  gesture  dignity  and  love. 

I,  overjoyed,  could  not  forbear  aloud  : 

This  turn  hath  made  amends:  thou  hast  ful filled 

Thy  words,  Creator  bounteous  and  benign, 

Giver  of  all  things  fair !  but  fairest  this 

Of  all  thy  gifts  !  nor  enviest.  I  now  see  . 

Bone  of  my  bone,  flesh  of  my  flesh,  myself 

Before  me.  Woman  is  her  name ;  of  man 

Extracted :  for  this  cause  he  shall  forego 

Father  and  mother,  and  to  his  wife  adhere ; 

And  they  shall  be  one  flesh,  one  heart,  one  soul. 

She  heard  me  thus :  and,  though  divinely  brought, 

Yet  innocence  and  virgin  modesty, 

Her  virtue  and  the  conscience  of  her  worth,1 

That  would  he  wooed,  and  not  unsought  be  won, 

* 

Not  obvious,  not  obtrusive,  hut,  retired, 

The  more  desirable  ;  or,  to  say  all, 

Nature  herself,  though  pure  of  sinful  thought, 

Wrought  in  her  so,  that,  seeing  me,  she  turned ; 

I  followed  her ;  she  what  was  honour  knew, 

And  with  obsequious  majesty  approved 
My  pleaded  reason.  To  the  nuptial  bower 
I  led  her,  blushing  like  the  morn  :  all  heaven, 

And  happy  constellations,  on  that  hour 
Shed  their  selectest  influence :  the  earth 
Gave  sign  of  gratulation,  and  each  hill ; 

Joyous  the  birds ;  fresh  gales  and  gentle  airs 
Whispered  it  to  the  woods,  and  from  their  wings 
Flung  rose,  flung  odours  from  the  spicy  shrub, 


1  Conscience  of  her  worth. — Conscious  of,  knowing  it. 


Book  VIII. -518-553] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


19 


Disporting,  till  the  amorous  bird  of  night 
Sung  spousal,  and  bid  haste  the  evening  star, 

On  his  liili-top,  to  light  the  bridal  lamp. 

Thus  have  I  told  thee  all  my  state,  and  brought 
My  story  to  the  sum  of  earthly  bliss 
Which  I  enjoy ;  and  must  confess  to  find 
In  all  things  else  delight  indeed,  but  such 
As,  used  or  not,  works  in  the  mind  no  change, 

Nor  vehement  desire ;  these  delicacies 
I  mean  of  taste,  sight,  smell,  herbs,  fruits,  and  flowers, 
Walks,  and  the  melody  of  birds.  But  here 
Far  otherwise,  transported  I  behold, 

Transported  touch  ;  here  passion  first  I  felt, 

Commotion  strange !  in  all  enjoyments  else 
Superior  and  unmoved ;  here  only  weak 
Against  the  charm  of  beauty’s  powerful  glance, 

X 

Or  nature  failed  in  me,  and  left  some  part 
Not  proof  enough  such  object  to  sustain  ; 

Or,  from  my  side  subducting,  took,  perhaps, 

More  than  enough ;  at  least  on  her  bestowed 
Too  much  of  ornament,  in  outward  show 
Elaborate,  of  inward  less  exact. 

For  well  I  understand,  in  the  prime  end 
Of  nature,  her  the  inferior  in  the  mind 
And  inward  faculties,  which  most  excel ; 

In  outward,  also,  her  resembling  less 

His  image  who  made  both,  and  less  expressing 

The  character  of  that  dominion  given 

O’er  other  creatures.  Yet,  when  I  approach 

Her  loveliness,  so  absolute  she  seems, 

And  in  herself  complete,  so  well  to  know 
Her  own,  that  what  she  wills  to  do  or  say 
Seems  wisest,  virtuousest,  discreetest,  best. 

All  higher  knowledge  in  her  presence  falls 
Degraded.  Wisdom  in  discourse  with  her 
Loses,  discountenanced,  and  like  folly  shews. 


198 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VIII. — 554-587 


Authority  and  reason  on  her  wait, 

As  one  intended  first,  not  after  made 
Occasionally;  and,  to  consummate  all, 

Greatness  of  mind,  and  nobleness,  their  seat 
Build  in  her  loveliest,  and  create  an  awe 
About  her,  as  a  guard  angelic  placed. 

To  whom  the  Angel,  with  contracted  brow : 
Accuse  not  Nature  she  hath  done  her  part ; 

Do  thou  but  thine,  and  be  not  diffident 
Of  wisdom  ;  she  deserts  thee  not,  if  thou 
Dismiss  not  her,  when  most  thou  need’st  her  nigh, 
By  attributing  overmuch  to  things 
Less  excellent,  as  thou  thyself  perceivest. 

For,  what  admirest  thou,  what  transports  thee  so? 

An  outside ;  fair,  no  doubt,  and  worthy  well 

Thy  cherishing,  thy  honouring,  and  thy  love  ; 

✓ 

Not  thy  subjection ;  weigh  with  her  thyself ; 

Then  value.  Ofttimes  nothing  profits  more 
Than  self-esteem,  grounded  on  just  and  right 
Well  managed,.  Of  that  skill,  the  more  thou  know’st, 
The  more  she  will  acknowledge  thee  her  head, 

And  to  realities  yield  all  her  shows : 

Made  so  adorn1  for  thy  delight  the  more, 

So  awful,  that  with  honour  thou  may’st  love 
Thy  mate,  who  sees  when  thou  art  seen  least  wise. 
But  if  the  sense  of  touch,  whereby  mankind 
Is  propagated,  seem  such  dear  delight 
Beyond  all  other,  think  the  same  vouchsafed 
To  cattle  and  each  beast ;  which  would  not  be 
To  them  made  common  and  divulged,  if  aught 
Therein  enjoyed  were  worthy  to  subdue 
The  soul  of  man,  or  passion  in  him  move. 

What  higher  in  her  society  thou  find’st 
Attractive,  human,  rational,  love  still ; 


‘  Made  so  adorn. — Adorned. 


Book  VIII.— 588-623] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


199 


In  loving  thou  dost  well,  in  passion  not, 

Wherein  true  love  consists  not.  Love  refines 
The  thoughts,  and  heart  enlarges ;  hath  his  seat 
In  reason,  and  is  judicious  ;  is  the  scale 
By  which  to  heavenly  love  thou  may’st  ascend, 

Not  sunk  in  carnal  pleasure ;  for  which  cause, 
Among  the  beasts  no  mate  for  thee  was  found. 

To  whom  thus,  half  abashed,  Adam  replied : 
Neither  her  outside,  formed  so  fair,  nor  aught 
In  procreation,  common  to  all  kinds — 

Though  higher  of  the  genial  bed  by  far, 

And  with  mysterious  reverence  I  deem — 

So  much  delights  me,  as  those  graceful  acts, 

Those  thousand  decencies,  that  daily  flow 
From  all  her  words  and  actions,  mixed  with  love 
And  sweet  compliance,  which  declare  unfeigned 
Union  of  mind,  or  in  us  both  one  soul : 

Harmony  to  behold  in  wedded  pair 

More  grateful  than  harmonious  sound  to  the  ear. 

Yet  these  subject  not;  I  to  thee  disclose 
What  inward  thence  I  feel,  not  therefore  foiled, 

Who  meet  with  various  objects,  from  the  sense 
Variously  representing  ;  yet,  still  free, 

Approve  the  best,  and  follow  what  I  approve. 

To  love  thou  blamest  nrie  not ;  for  love,  thou  say’st, 
Leads  up  to  heaven,  is  both  the  way  and  guide. 
Bear  with  me,  then,  if  lawful  what  I  ask : 

Love  not  the  heavenly  Spirits,  and  how  their  love 
Express  they,  by  looks  only,  or  do  they  mix 
Irradiance,  virtual  or  immediate  touch  ? 

To  whom  the  angel,  with  a  smile  that  glowed 
Celestial  rosy  red,  love’s  proper  hue, 

Answered  :  Let  it  suffice  thee  that  thou  knowest 
Us  happy,  and  without  love  no  happiness. 

Whatever  pure  thou  in  the  body  enjoyest — 

And  pure  thou  wert  created — we  enjoy 


200 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  VIII.-  G24-G5c5 


In  eminence,  and  obstacle  find  none 
Of  membrane,  joint,  or  limb,  exclusive  bars. 

Easier  than  air  with  air,  if  Spirits  embrace, 

Total  they  mix,  union  of  pure  with  pure 
Desiring,  nor  restrained  conveyance  need, 

As  flesh  to  mix  with  flesh,  or  soul  with  soul. 

But  I  can  now  no  more ;  the  parting  Sun, 

Beyond  the  Earth’s  green  cape  and  verdant  isles 
Hesperian,  sets ;  my  signal  to  depart. 

Be  strong,  live  happy,  and  love ;  but,  first  of  all, 
Him,  whom  to  love  is  to  obey ;  and  keep 
His  great  command.  Take  heed  lest  passion  swny 
Thy  judgment  to  do  aught  which,  else,  free-will 
Would  not  admit :  thine,  and  of  all  thy  sons, 

The  weal  or  woe  in  thee  is  placed ;  beware ! 

I  in  thy  persevering  shall  rejoice, 

And  all  the  blest.  Stand  fast  ;  to  stand  or  fall 
Free  in  thine  own  arbitrement  it  lies. 

Perfect  within,  no  outward  aid  require  ; 

And  all  temptation  to  transgress  repel. 

So  saying,  he  arose,  whom  Adam  thus 
Followed  with  benediction:  Since  to  part, 

Go,  heavenly  guest,  ethereal  messenger, 

Sent  from  whose  sovereign  goodness  I  adore ! 
Gentle  to  me  and  affable  hath  been 
Thy  condescension,  and  shall  bo  honoured  ever 
With  grateful  memory ;  thou  to  mankind 
Be  good  and  friendly  still,  and  oft  return  ! 

So  parted  they :  the  Angel  up  to  heaven 
From  the  thick  shade,  and  Adam  to  his  bower. 


So  parted  they;  the  Angel  up  to  heaven 
From  the  thick  shade,  and  Adam  to  his  bower. 

Book  VIII. ,  lines  652,  653. 


BOOK  IX. 


Satan,  having  compassed  the  earth,  with  meditated  guile  returns,  as  a  mist,  by  night,  into  Paradise;  enters  into 
the  serpent  sleeping.  Adam  and  Eve  in  the  morning  go  forth  to  their  labors,  which  Eve  proposes  to  divide  in 
several  places,  each  laboring  apart;  Adam  consents  not,  alleging  the  danger  lest  that  enemy  of  whom  they 
were  forewarned,  should  attempt  her,  found  alone:  Eve,  loth  to  be  thought  not  circumspect  or  firm  enough, 
urges  her  going  apart,  the  rather  desirous  to  make  trial  of  her  strength;  Adam  at  last  yields;  the  serpent 
finds  her  alone:  his  subtle  approach,  first  gazing,  then  speaking;  with  much  flattery  extolling  Eve  above  all 
other  creatures.  Eve,  wondering  to  hear  the  serpent  speak,  asks  how  he  attained  to  human  speech,  and  such 
understanding,  not  till  now:  the  serpent  answers  that,  by  tasting  of  a  certain  tree  in  the  garden,  he  attained 
both  to  speech  and  reason,  till  then  void  of  both.  Eve  requires  him  to  bring  her  to  that  tree,  and  finds  it 
to  be  the  tree  of  knowledge,  forbidden:  the  serpent,  now  grown  bolder,  with  many  wiles  and  arguments  in¬ 
duces  her  at  length  to  eat:  she,  pleased  with  the  taste,  deliberates  awhile  whether  to  impart  thereof  to  Adam 
or  not;  at  last  brings  him  of  the  fruit:  relates  what  persuaded  her  to  eat  thereof.  Adam,  at  first  amazed,  but 
perceiving  her  lost,  resolves,  through  vehemence  of  love  to  perish  with  her;  and,  extenuating  the  trespass, 
eats  also  of  the  fruit :  the  effects  thereof  in  them  both ;  they  seek  to  cover  their  nakedness ;  then  fall  to  vari¬ 
ance  and  accusation  of  one  another. 

0  more  of  talk  where  God,  or  Angel  guest, 

With  Man,  as  with  his  friend,  familiar  used 
To  sit  indulgent,  and  with  him  partake 
Mural  repast ;  permitting  him  the  while 
Venial  discourse1  unblamed.  I  now  must  change 
Those  notes  to  tragic ;  foul  distrust,  and  breach 
Disloyal,  on  the  part  of  Man,  revolt 
And  disobedience ;  on  the  part  of  Heaven, 

Now  alienated,  distance,  and  distaste, 

Anger  and  just  rebuke,  and  judgment  given, 

That  brought  into  this  world  a  world  of  woe, 

Sin  and  her  shadow  death,  and  misery 
Death’s  harbinger.  Sad  task !  yet  argument 
Hot  less,  but  more  heroic  than  the  wrath 
Of  stern  Achilles2  on  his  foe  pursued, 

Thrice  fugitive,  about  Troy  wall  ;  or  rage 
Of  Turnus  for  Lavinia3  disespoused  ; 

Or  Neptune’s  ire,  or  Juno’s,4  that  so  long 


1  Venial  discourse. — Pordonable,  allowable. 

3  Stern  Achilles. — The  principal  hero  in  the  “niad,”  described  as  the  most  handsome  and  brave  of  all  the  Greeks. 

3  Of  Turnus  for  Lavinia. — A  Latin  prince  who  fought  against  JSneas,  because  King  Latinus  had  given  his 
daughter  Lavinia  to  him  in  marriage. 

4 Neptune's  ire ,  or  Juno's. — Neptune  was  hostile  to  Ulysses,  Juno  to  ASneas. 


202 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IX.— 19-51 


Perplexed  the  Greek,  and  Cytherea’s1  son; 

If  answerable  style  I  can  obtain 
Of  my  celestial  patroness,  who  deigns 
Her  nightly  visitation  unimplored, 

And  dictates  to  me  slumbering,  or  inspires 
Easy  my  unpremeditated  verse, 

Since  first  this  subject  for  heroic  song 
Pleased  me,  long  choosing  and  beginning  late, 

Not  sedulous  by  nature  to  indite 
Wars,  hitherto  the  only  argument 
Heroic  deemed,  chief  mastery  to  dissect, 

With  long  and  tedious  havoc,  fabled  knights, 

In  battles  feigned — the  better  fortitude 
Of  patience  and  heroic  martyrdom 
Unsung — or  to  describe  races  and  games, 

Or  tilling  furniture,  emblazoned  shields, 

Impresses  quaint,  caparisons  and  steeds, 

Bases  and  tinsel  trappings,  gorgeous  knights 
At  joust  and  tournament,  then  marshalled  feast 
Served  up  in  hall  with  sewers  and  seneschals, 

The  skill  of  artifice  or  office  mean, 

Not  that  which  justly  gives  heroic  name 
To  person  or  to  poem.  Me,  of  these 
Nor  skilled  nor  studious,  higher  argument 
Remains  ;  sufficient  of  itself  to  raise 
That  name,  unless  an  age  too  late,  or  cold 
Climate,  or  years,  damp  my  intended  wing 
Depressed ;  and  much  they  may  if  all  be  mine, 

Not  hers,  who  brings  it  nightly  to  my  ear." 

The  sun  was  sunk,  and  after  him  the  star 
Of  Hesperus,  whose  office  is  to  bring 
Twilight  upon  the  earth,  short  arbiter 
Twixt  day  and  night ;  and  now,  from  end  to  end, 

1  Cytherea. — One  of  the  names  of  Venus. 

*  Nightly  to  my  ear . — These  personal  episodes  have  been  censured  by  critics  as  displaced  in  such  a  poem,  and 
perhaps  not  without  reason.  But  as  they  come  from  Milton,  the  reader,  we  doubt  not,  will  give  them  a  cordial  and 
sympathetic  welcome. 


•  r  t* 


36 


In  with  the  river  sunk,  and  with  it  rose, 
Satan. 


Book  IX.,  lines  74,  75, 


Book  IX.— 52-84] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


203 


Night’s  hemisphere  had  veiled  the  horizon  round, 

When  Satan,  who  late  fled  before  the  threats 
Of  Gabriel  out  of  Eden,  now  improved 
In  meditated  fraud  and  malice,  bent 
On  Man’s  destruction,  maugre  what  might  hap 
Of  heavier  on  himself,  fearless  returned, 

By  night  he  fled,  and  at  midnight  returned 
From  compassing  the  earth ;  cautious  of  day, 

Since  Uriel,  regent  of  the  sun,  descried 

His  entrance,  and  forewarned  the  cherubim 

That  kept  their  watch.  Thence,  full  of  anguish,  driven, 

The  space  of  seven  continued  nights  he  rode 

With  darkness :  thrice  the  equinoctial  line 

He  circled,  four  times  croseed  the  car  of  Night 

From  pole  to  pole,  traversing  each  colure  f 

On  the  eighth  returned,  and,  on  the  coast  averse 

From  entrance  or  cherubic  watch,  by  stealth 

Found  unsuspected  way.  There  was  a  place, 

Now  not,  though  sin,  not  time,  first  wrought  the  change, 
Where  Tigris,  at  the  foot  of  Paradise, 

Into  a  gulf  shot  under  ground,  till  part 
Bose  up  a  fountain  by  the  tree  of  life ; 

In  with  the  river  sunk,  and  with  it  rose, 

Satan,  involved  in  rising  mist,  then  sought 
Where  to  lie  hid.  Sea  he  had  searched,  and  land 
From  Eden  over  Pontus,  and  the  pool 
Mteotis,  up  beyond  the  river  Ob ; 

Downward  as  far  antarctic ;  and,  in  length, 

West  from  Orontes  to  the  ocean  barred 
At  Darien,  thence  to  the  land  where  flows 
Ganges  and  Indus.  Thus  the  orb  he  roamed 
With  narrow  search,  and,  with  inspection  deep, 

Considered  every  creature,  which  of  all 


*  Each  colure. — The  colures  are  two  great  circles  intersecting  each  other  at  right  angles  in  the  poles,  and  encom¬ 
passing  the  earth  from  north  to  south,  aud  from  south  to  north  again,  so  that  to  traverse  these  was  to  traverse  the 
whole  globe. 


204 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IX.— 85-120 


Most  opportune  might  serve  his  wiles,  and  found 
The  serpent  subtlest  beast  of  all  the  field. 

Him,  after  long  debate,  irresolute, 

Of  thoughts  revolved,  his  final  sentence  chose, 

Fit  vessel,  fittest  imp  of  fraud,  in  whom 
To  enter,  and  his  dark  suggestions  hide 
From  sharpest  sight ;  for,  in  the  wily  snake, 
Whatever  sleights,  none  would  suspicious  mark, 

As  from  his  wit  and  native  subtlety 
Proceeding,  which,  in  other  beasts  observed, 

Doubt  might  beget  of  diabolic  power 
Active  within,  beyond  the  sense  of  brute. 

Thus  he  resolved,  but  first,  from  inward  grief, 

His  bursting  passion  into  plaints  thus  poured : 

0  Earth,  how  like  to  Heaven,  if  not  preferred 
More  justly,  seat  worthier  of  gods,  as  built 
With  second  thoughts,  reforming  what  was  old  ! 

For  what  god,  after  better,  worse  would  build? 
Terrestrial  Heaven,  danced  round  by  other  heavens 
That  shine,  yet  bear  their  bright  officious  lamps, 
Light  above  light,  for  thee  alone,  as  seems, 

In  thee  concentring  all  their  precious  beams 
Of  sacred  influence !  As  God  in  Heaven 
Is  centre,  yet  extends  to  all ;  so  thou, 

Centring,  receivest  from  all  those  orbs ;  in  thee, 

Not  in  themselves,  all  their  known  virtue  appears 
Productive  in  herb,  plant,  and  nobler  birth 
Of  creatures  animate  with  gradual  life 
Of  growth,  sense,  reason,  all  summed  up  in  Man. 
With  what  delight  could  I  have  "walked  the  round, 
If  I  could  joy  in  aught !  Sweet  interchange 
Of  hill,  and  valley,  rivers,  woods,  and  plains, 

Now  land,  now  sea,  and  shores  with  forest  crowned, 
Rocks,  dens,  and  caves  !  But  I  in  none  of  these 
Find  place  or  refuge ;  and  the  more  I  see 
Pleasures  about  me,  so  much  more  I  feel 


O  Earth,  how  like  to  Heaven,  if  not  preferred 
More  justly. 


Booh  IX.,  lines  99,  100. 


I 

I 


* 


Book  IX.— 121 -156J 


PARADISE  LOST. 


205 


Torment  within  me,  as  from  the  hateful  siege 
Of  contraries.  All  good  to  me  becomes 
Bane,  and  in  heaven  much  worse  would  be  my  state. 
But  neither  here  seek  I,  no,  nor  in  Heaven, 

To  dwell,  unless  by  mastering  heaven’s  Supreme. 

Nor  hope  to  be  myself  less  miserable 
By  what  I  seek,  but  others  to  make  such 
As  I,  though  thereby  worse  to  me  redound. 

For  only  in  destroying  I  find  ease 

To  my  relentless  thoughts ;  and,  him  destroyed, 

Or  won  to  what  may  work  his  utter  loss, 

For  whom  all  this  was  made,  all  this  will  soon 
Follow,  as  to  him  linked  in  weal  or  woe  ; 

In  woe  then ;  that  destruction  wide  may  range. 

To  me  shall  be  the  glory  sole  among 
The  infernal  Powers,  in  one  day  to  have  marred 
What  He,  Almighty  styled,  six  nights  and  days 
Continued  making,  and  who  knows  how  long 
Before  had  been  contriving,  though,  perhaps, 

Not  longer  than  since  I,  in  one  night,  freed, 

From  servitude  inglorious,  well-nigh  half 
The  angelic  name,  and  thinner  left  the  throng 
Of  his  adorers.  He,  to  be  avenged, 

And  to  repair  his  numbers  thus  impaired, 

Whether  such  virtue,  spent  of  old,  now  failed 
More  Angels  to  create — if  they  at  least 
Are  His  created — or,  to  spite  us  more, 

Determined  to  advance  into  our  room 
A  creature  formed  of  earth,  and  him  endow, 

Exalted  from  so  base  original, 

With  heavenly  spoils,  our  spoils.  What  he  decreed, 
He  effected  ;  man  he  made,  and  for  him  built, 
Magnificent,  this  world,  and  Earth  his  seat, 

Him  lord  pronounced,  and,  0  indignity ! 

Subjected  to  his  service,  Angel-wings, 

And  flaming  ministers,  to  watch  and  tend 


206 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[BOOK  IX.- 157-192 


Their  earthly  cnarge.  Of  these  the  vigilance 
I  dread ;  and,  to  elude,  thus  wrapt  in  mist 
Of  midnight  vapour,  glide  obscure,  and  pry 
In  every  bush  and  brake,  where  hap  may  find 
The  serpent  sleeping,  in  whose  mazy  folds 
To  hide  me,  and  the  dark  intent  I  bring. 

0  foul  descent !  that  I,  who  erst  contended 
With  gods  to  sit  the  highest,  am  now  constrained 
Into  a  beast ;  and,  mixed  with  beastial  slime, 

This  essence  to  incarnate  and  imbrute, 

That  to  the  height  of  Deity  aspired  ! 

But  what  will  not  ambition  and  revenge 
Descend  to?  Who  aspires,  must  down  as  low 
As  high  he  soared  obnoxious,  first  or  last, 

To  basest  things.  Revenge,  at  first  so  sweet, 

Bitter  ere  long,  back  on  itself  recoils. 

Let  it — I  reck  not,  so  it  light  well-aimed, 

Since  higher  I  fall  short,  on  him  who  next 
Provokes  my  envy,  this  new  favourite 
Of  Heaven,-  this  man  of  clay,  son  of  despite ; 
Whom,  us  the  more  to  spite,  his  Maker  raised 
From  dust.  Spite  then  with  spite  is  best  repaid. 

So  saying,  through  each  thicket,  dank  or  dry, 
Like  a  black  mist,  low  creeping,  he  held  on 
His  midnight  search,  where  soonest  he  might  find 
The  serpent.  Him,  fast  sleeping,  soon  he  found 
In  labyrinth  of  many  a  round,  self-rolled, 

His  head  the  midst,  well  stored  with  subtle  wiles  ; 
Not  yet  in  horrid  shade  or  dismal  den, 

Nor  nocent  yet ;  but,  on  the  grassy  herb, 

Fearless,  unfeared,  he  slept.  In  at  his  mouth 
The  devil  entered,  and  his  brutal  sense, 

In  heart  or  head,  possessing,  soon  inspired 

With  act  intelligential ;  but  his  sleep 

Disturbed  not,  waiting  close  the  approach  of  morn. 

Now,  when  as  sacred  light  began  to  dawn 


38  Him,  fast  sleeping,  soon  be  found 

In  labyrinth  of  many  a  round,  self-rolled. 

Book  IX.,  lines  182,  183. 


Book  IX.— 193-228] 


PAKADTSE  LOST. 


207 


In  Eden  on  the  humid  llowers,  that  breathed 
Their  morning  incense,  when  all  things  that  breathe, 
From  the  earth’s  great  altar,  sent  up  silent  praise 
To  the  Creator,  and  His  nostrils  fill 
With  grateful  smell,  forth  came  the  human  pair, 

And  joined  their  vocal  worship  to  the  quire 
Of  creatures  wanting  voice ;  that  done,  partake 
The  season,  prime  for  sweetest  scents  and  airs : 

Then  commune  how  that  day  they  best  may  ply 
Their  growing  work ;  for  much  their  work  outgrew 
The  hands’  dispatch  of  two,  gardening  so  wide ; 

And  Eve  to  her  husband  thus  began  : 

Adam,  well  may  we  labour  still  to  dress 
This  garden,  still  to  tend  plant,  herb,  and  flower, 

Our  pleasant  task  enjoined ;  hut  till  more  hands 
Aid  us,  the  work  under  our  labour  grows, 

Luxurious  by  restraint ;  what  we  by  day 
Lop,  overgrown,  or  prune,  or  prop,  or  hind, 

One  night  or  two  with  wanton  growth  derides, 
Tending  to  wild.  Thou,  therefore,  now  advise, 

Or  hear  what  to  my  mind  first  thoughts  present : 
Let  us  divide  our  labours  ;  thou,  where  choice 
Leads  thee,  or  wThere  most  needs,  whether  to  wind 
The  woodbine  round  this  harbour,  or  direct 
The  clasping  ivy  where  to  climb ;  while  I, 

In  yonder  spring  of  roses  intermixed 
With  myrtle,  find  what  to  redress  till  noon : 

Eor,  while  so  near  each  other  thus  all  day 
Our  task  we  choose,  what  wonder  if,  so  near, 

Looks  intervene,  and  smiles,  or  object  new 
Casual  discourse  draw  on,  which  intermits 
Our  day’s  work,  brought  to  little,  though  begun 
Early,  and  the  hour  of  supper  comes  unearned? 

To  whom  mild  answer  Adam  thus  returned  : 

Sole  Eve,  associate  sole,  to  me,  beyond 
Compare,  above  all  living  creatures  dear ! 


208  PARADISE  LOST.  [Book  IX.— 229-264 

Well  hast  thou  motioned,  well  thy  thoughts  employed, 

How  we  mi  edit  best  fulfil  the  work  which  here 
God  hath  assigned  us ;  nor  of  me  slialt  pass 
Unpraised ;  for  nothing  lovelier  can  he  found 
In  woman,  than  to  study  household  good, 

And  good  works  in  her  husband  to  promote. 

Yet  not  so  strictly  hath  our  Lord  imposed 
Labour,  as  to  debar  us  when  we  need 
Refreshment,  whether  food,  or  talk  between, 

Food  of  the  mind,  or  this  sweet  intercourse 
Of  looks  and  smiles, — for  smiles  from  reason  How, 

To  brute  denied,  and  are  of  love  the  food, 

Love,  not  the  lowest  end  of  human  life. 

For  not  to  irksome  toil,  but  to  delight, 

He  made  us,  and  delight  to  reason  joined. 

These  paths  and  bowers  doubt  not  but  our  joint  hands 
Will  keep  from  wilderness  with  ease,  as  wide 
As  we  need  walk,  till  younger  hands  ere  long 
Assist  us.  But  if  much  converse,  perhaps, 

Thee  satiate,  to  short  absence  I  could  yield ; 

For  solitude  sometimes  is  best  society, 

And  short  retirement  urges  sweet  return. 

But  other  doubt  possesses  me,  lest  harm 
Befall  thee,  severed  from  me ;  for  thou  know’st 
What  hath  been  warned  us ;  what  malicious  foe, 

Envying  our  happiness,  and  of  his  own 
Despairing,  seeks  to  work  us  woe  and  shame 
By  sly  assault ;  and  somewhere,  nigh  at  hand, 

Watches,  no  doubt,  with  greedy  hope  to  find 
His  wish  and  best  advantage,  us  asunder ; 

Hopeless  to  circumvent  us  joined,  where  each 
To  other  speedy  aid  might  lend  at  need. 

Whether  his  first  design  be  to  withdraw 
Our  fealty  to  God,  or  to  disturb 
Conjugal  love,  than  which,  perhaps,  no  bliss 
Enjoyed  by  us  excites  his  envy  more ; 


Book  IX.— 265-300] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


209 


Or  this,  or  worse,  leave  not  the  faithful  side 

That  gave  thee  being,  still  shades  thee,  and  protects. 

The  wife,  where  danger  or  dishonour  lurks, 

Safest  and  seemliest  by  her  husband  stays, 

Who  guards  her,  or  with  her  the  worst  endures. 

To  whom  the  virgin  majesty  of  Eve, 

As  one  who  loves,  and  some  unkindness  meets, 

With  sweet  austere  composure  thus  replied : 

Offspring  of  heaven  and  earth,  and  all  earth’s  lord  ! 
That  such  an  enemy  we  have,  who  seeks 
Our  ruin,  both  by  thee  informed  I  learn, 

And  from  the  parting  Angel  overheard, 

As  in  a  shady  nook  I  stood  behind, 

Just  then  returned  at  shut  of  evening  flowers. 

But  that  thou  sliouldst  my  firmness  therefore  doubt 
To  God  or  thee,  because  wTe  have  a  foe 
May  tempt  it,  I  expected  not  to  hear. 

His  violence  thou  fearest  not ;  being  such 
As  we,  not  capable  of  death  or  pain, 

Can  either  not  receive,  or  can  repel. 

His  fraud  is,  then,  thy  fear ;  which  plain  infers 
Thy  equal  fear,  that  my  firm  faith  and  love 
Can  by  his  fraud  be  shaken  or  seduced : 

Thoughts,  which  how  found  they  harbour  in  thy  breast, 
Adam,  misthought  of  her  to  thee  so  dear? 

To  whom,  with  healing  words,  Adam  replied: 
Daughter  of  God  and  Man,  immortal  Eve  ! 

For  such  thou  art,  from  sin  and  blame  entire ; 

Hot  diffident  of  thee  do  I  dissuade 
Thy  absence  from  my  sight,  hut  to  avoid 
The  attempt  itself,  intended  by  our  foe. 

For  he  who  tempts,  though  in  vain,  at  least  asperses 
The  tempted  with  dishonour  foul,  supposed 
Not  incorruptible  of  faith,  not  proof 
Against  temptation.  Thou  thysel f,  with  scorn 
And  anger  wouldst 'resent  the  offered  wrong, 


210 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IX.— 301-33G 


Though  ineffectual  found ;  misdeem  not,  then, 

If  such  affront  I  labour  to  avert 

From  thee  alone,  which  on  us  both  at  once 

The  enemy,  though  bold,  will  hardly  dare, 

Or  daring,  first  on  me  the  assault  shall  light. 

Nor  thou  his  malice  and  false  guile  contemn; 

Subtle  he  needs  must  be,  who  could  seduce 
Angels.  Nor  think  superfluous  others’  aid. 

I,  from  the  influence  of  thy  looks,  receive 

Access  in  every  virtue.  In  thy  sight 

More  wise,  more  watchful,  stronger,  if  need  were 

Of  outward  strength ;  while  shame,  thou  looking  on, 

Shame  to  be  overcome  or  over-reached, 

Would  utmost  vigour  raise,  and  raised,  unite. 

Why  shouldst  not  thou  like  sense  within  thee  feel 
When  I  am  present,  and  thy  trial  choose 
With  me,  best  witness  of  thy  virtue  tried  ? 

So  spake  domestic  Adam  in  his  care, 

And  matrimonial  love.  But  Eve,  who  thought 
Less  attributed 'Ao  her  faith  sincere, 

Thus  her  reply  with  accent  sweet  renewed  : 

If  this  he  our  condition,  thus  to  dwell 
In  narrow  circuit  straitened  by  a  foe, 

Subtle  or  violent,  we  not  endued 
Single  with  like  defence,  wherever  met, 

How  are  we  happy,  still  in  fear  of  harm? 

But  harm  precedes  not  sin.  Only  our  foe, 

Tempting,  affronts  us  with  his  foul  esteem 

Of  our  integrity :  his  foul  esteem 

Sticks  no  dishonour  on  our  front,  hut  turns 

Foul  on  himself ;  then  wherefore  shunned  or  feared 

By  us,  who  rather  double  houour  gain 

From  his  surmise  proved  false,  find  peace  within, 

Favour  from  Heaven,  our  witness,  from  the  event. 

And  what  is  faith,  love,  virtue,  unassayed 

Alone,  without  exterior  help  sustained? 


Book  IX.— 337-372] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


211 


Let  us  not,  then,  suspect  our  happy  state 
Left  so  imperfect  by  the  Maker  wise, 

As  not  secure  to  single  or  combined. 

Frail  is  our  happiness,  if  this  he  so  ; 

And  Eden  were  no  Eden,  thus  exposed. 

To  whom  thus  Adam  fervently  replied  : 

0  woman,  best  are  all  things  as  the  will 
Of  God  ordained  them.  His  creating  hand 
Nothing  imperfect,  or  deficient  left 
Of  all  that  he  created,  much  less  man, 

Or  aught  that  might  his  happy  state  secure, 

Secure  from  outward  force.  Within  himself 
The  danger  lies,  yet  lies  within  his  power : 
Against  his  will  he  can  receive  no  harm. 

CJ 

But  God  left  free  the  will,  for  what  obeys 
Beason  is  free ;  and  reason  he  made  right. 

But  bid  her  well  he  ware,  and  still  erect, 

Lest,  by  some  fair-appearing  good  surprised, 

She  dictate  false,  and  misinform  the  will 
To  do  what  God  expressly  hath  forbid. 

Not  then  mistrust,  but  tender  love,  enjoins, 

That  I  should  mind  thee  oft,  and  mind  thou  me. 
Firm  we  subsist,  yet  possible  to  swerve, 

Since  reason  not  impossibly  may  meet 
Some  specious  object  by  the  foe  suborned, 

And  fall  into  deception  unawTare, 

Not  keeping  strictest  watch,  as  she  was  warned. 
Seek  not  temptation,  then,  which  to  avoid 
Were  better,  and  most  likely  if  from  me 
Thou  sever  not ;  trial  will  come  unsought. 

Wouldst  thou  approve  thy  constancy,  approve 
First  thy  obedience  ;  the  other  who  can  know  ? 
Not  seeing  thee  attempted,  who  attest? 

But,  if  thou  think  trial  unsought  may  find 
Us  both  securer  than  thus  warned  thou  seemest, 
Go ;  for  thy  stay,'  not  free,  absents  thee  more ; 


212 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IX.— 373-405 


Go  in  thy  native  innocence,  rely 

On  what  thou  hast  of  virtue ;  summon  all  : 

For  God  towards  thee  hath  done  His  part,  do  thine. 

So  spake  the  patriarch  of  mankind ;  but  Eve 
Persisted ;  yet  submiss,  though  last,  replied : 

With  thy  permission,  then,  and  thus  forewarned 
Chiefly  by  what  thy  own  last  reasoning  words 
Touched  only,  that  our  trial,  when  least  sought. 

May  find  us  both,  perhaps,  far  less  prepared, 

The  willinger  I  go,  nor  much  expect 
A  foe  so  proud  will  first  the  weaker  seek  ; 

So  bent,  the  more  shall  shame  him  his  repulse. 

Thus  saying,  from  her  husband’s  hand  her  hand 
Soft  she  withdrew,  and,  like  a  wood-nymph  light 
Oread,  or  Dryad,  or  of  Delia’s  train,1 * 
Betook  her  to  the  groves — but  Delia’s  self, 

In  gait  surpassed,  and  goddess-like  deport, 

Though  not  as  she  with  bow  and  quiver  armed, 

But  with  such  gardening  tools  as  art,  yet  rude, 
Guiltless  of  'fire,  had  formed,  or  Angels  brought. 

To  Pales,3  or  Pomona,3  thus  adorned, 

Likest  she  seemed — Pomona,  when  she  fled 
Vertumnus,  or  to  Ceres  in  her  prime, 

Yet  virgin  of  Proserpina  from  Jove. 

Her  long,  with  ardent  look,  his  eye  pursued 
Delighted,  but  desiring  more  her  stay. 

Oft  he  to  her  his  charge  of  quick  return 
Repeated ;  she  to  him  as  oft  engaged 
To  be  returned  by  noon  amid  the  bower, 

And  all  things  in  best  order  to  invite 
Noontide  repast,  or  afternoon’s  repose. 

0  much  deceived,  much  failing,  hapless  Eve, 

Of  thy  presumed  return  !  event  perverse  ! 


1  Oread ,  or  Dryad ,  or  of  Delia's  train. — Female  divinities  with  which  the  Greeks  peopled  the  neighbourhood 
of  their  rivers,  woods,  and  mountains. 

''Pales. — The  Roman  goddess  of  flocks — shepherds. 

3  Pomona. — The  female  guardian  of  fruit  trees. 


39  Nearer  lie  drew,  and  many  a  walk  traversed. 

Of  stateliest  covert,  cedar,  pine,  or  palm. 

Book  IX.,  lines  434,  435. 


Book  IX. — 406-439] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


213 


Thou  never  from  that  hour  in  Paradise 
Found’st  either  sweet  repast,  or  sound  repose  ! 

Such  ambush,  hid  among  sweet  flowers  and  shades 
Waited,  with  hellish  rancour  imminent, 

To  intercept  thy  way,  or  send  thee  back 
Despoiled  of  innocence,  of  faith,  of  bliss  ! 

For  now,  and  since  first  break  of  dawn,  the  Fiend, 
Mere  serpent  in  appearance,  forth  was  come, 

And  on  his  quest,  where  likeliest  he  might  find 
The  only  two  of  mankind,  but  in  them 
The  whole  included  race,  his  purposed  prey. 

In  bower  and  field  he  sought  where  any  tuft 
Of  grove  or  garden-plot  more  pleasant  lay, 

Their  tendance,  or  plantation  for  delight  ; 

By  fountain  or  by  shady  rivulet 

He  sought  them  both,  but  wished  his  hap  might  find 
Eve  separate ;  he  wished,  but  not  with  hope 
Of  what  so  seldom  chanced ;  when  to  his  wish, 
Beyond  his  hope,  Eve  separate  he  spies, 

Veiled  in  a  cloud  of  fragrance,  where  she  stood, 

Half  spied,  so  thick  the  roses  blushing  round 
About  her  glowed,  oft  stooping  to  support 
Each  flower  of  tender  stalk,  whose  head,  though  gay 
Carnation,  purple,  azure,  or  specked  with  gold, 

Hung  drooping,  unsustained ;  then  she  upstays 
Gently  with  myrtle  band,  mindless  the  while 
Herself,  though  fairest  unsupported  flower, 

From  her  best  prop  so  far,  and  storm  so  nigh. 

Nearer  he  drew,  and  many  a  walk  traversed 
Of  stateliest  covert,  cedar,  pine,  or  palm  ; 

Then  voluble  and  bold  ;*  now  hid,  now  seen 
Among  thick  woven  arborets,  and  flowers 
Imbordered  on  each  bank,  the  hand  of  Eve : 

Spot  more  delicious  than  those  gardens  feigned 


1  Voluble  and  bold. 1. — Curved  and  confident. 


214 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IX.— 440-471 


Or  of  revived  Adonis,1 *  or  renowned 
Alcinous,'  host  of  old  Laertes’  son, 

Or  that,  not  mystic,3  where  the  sapient  king 
Held  dalliance  with  his  fair  Egyptian  spouse. 
Much  he  the  place  admired,  the  person  more  : 

As  one  who,  long  in  populous  city  pent, 

Where  houses  thick,  and  sewers,  annoy  the  air, 
Forth  issuing  on  a  summer’s  morn,  to  breathe 
Among  the  pleasant  villages  and  farms 
Adjoined,  from  each  thing  met  conceives  delight ; 
The  smell  of  grain,  or  tedded  grass4  or  kine, 

Or  dairy,  each  rural  sight,  each  rural  sound  ; 

If  chance,  with  nymph-like  step,  fair  virgin  pass, 
What  pleasing  seemed,  for  her  now  pleases  more, 
She  most,  and  in  her  look  sums  all  delight. 

Such  pleasure  took  the  serpent  to  behold 
This  flow7ry  plat,  the  sweet  recess  of  Eve 
Thus  early,  thus  alone  ;  her  heavenly  form 
Angelic,  hut  more  soft,  and  feminine, 

Her  graceful  innocence,  her  every  air 
Of  gesture,  or  least  action,  overawed 
His  malice,  and  with  rapine  sw7eet  bereaved 
His  fierceness  of  the  fierce  intent  it  brought. 

o 

That  space  the  evil  one  abstracted  stood 
From  his  own  evil,  and  for  the  time  remained 
Stupidly  good  ;  of  enmity  disarmed, 

Of  guile,  of  hate,  of  envy,  of  revenge. 

But  the  hot  hell  that  always  in  him  burns, 
Though  in  mid  heaven,  soon  ended  his  delight, 
And  tortures  him  now  more,  the  more  he  sees 
Of  pleasure,  not  for  him  ordained  :  then  soon 
Fierce  hate  he  recollects,5  and  all  his  thoughts 


1 Adorns . — Tradition  made  Adonis  to  delight  in  a  beautiful  garden. 

*  Alcinous. — Alcinous  was  a  son  of  Neptune,  happv  in  his  rule  over  a  portion  of  the  island  of  Schena. 

3  Not  mystic. — This  reference  shows  the  sense  in  which  Milton  understood  the  Song  of  Solomon. 

4  Tedded  grass. — Grass  cast  about  newly  cut. 

6  Fierce  hate  he  recollects. — Recalls,  rallies. 


Book  IX.— 472-505] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


215 


Of  mischief,  gratulating,1  thus  excites  : 

Thoughts,  whither  have  ye  led  me  !  With  what  sweet 
Compulsion  thus  transported,  to  forget 
What  hither  brought  us  ?  Hate,  not  love ;  nor  hope 
Of  Paradise  for  Hell,  hope  here  to  taste 
Of  pleasure,  but  all  pleasure  to  destroy, 

Save  what  is  in  destroying ;  other  joy 
To  me  is  lost.  Then  let  me  not  let  pass 
Occasion  which  now  smiles  ;  behold  alone 
The  woman,  opportune  to  all  attempts, 

Her  husband,  for  I  view  far  round,  not  nigh, 

Whose  higher  intellectual  more  I  shun, 

And  strength,  of  courage  haughty,  and  of  limb 
Heroic  built,  though  of  terrestrial  mould ; 

Poe  not  informidable,  exempt  from  wound, 

I  not ;  so  much  hath  hell  debased,  and  pain 
Enfeebled  me,  to  what  I  was  in  heaven. 

She  fair,  divinely  fair,  fit  love  for  gods  ! 

Not  terrible,  though  terror  be  in  love 
And  beauty,  not  approached  by  stronger  hate, 

Hate  stronger,  under  show  of  love  well  feigned, 

The  way  which  to  her  ruin  now  I  tend. 

So  spake  the  enemy  of  mankind  enclosed 
In  serpent,  inmate  bad,  and  toward  Eve 
Addressed  his  way  :  not  with  indented  wave, 

Prone  on  the  ground,  as  since  ;  but  on  his  rear, 

Circular  base  of  rising  folds,  that  towered 
Fold  above  fold,  a  surging  maze;  his  head 
Crested  aloft,  and  carbuncle  his  eyes ; 

With  burnished  neck  of  verdant  gold,  erect 
Amidst  his  circling  spires,  that  on  the  grass 
Floated  redundant.  Pleasing  was  his  shape, 

And  lovely ;  never  since  of  serpent-kind 
Lovelier ;  not  those  that  in  Illyria  changed 


*  Gratulating. — Rejoicing  in. 


16 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IX. — 50G-5bti 


Hermione  and  Cadmus,1 2 3  or  the  god 
In  Epidaurus nor  to  which  transformed 
Ammonian  Jove,8  or  Capitoline  was  seen; 

He,  with  Olympias,  this,  with  her  who  bore 
Scipio,  the  height  of  Home.  With  tract  oblique 
At  first,  as  one  who  sought  access,  hut  feared 
To  interrupt,,  sidelong  he  works  his  way. 

As  when  a  ship,  by  skillful  steersman  wrought, 

Niffli  river’s  mouth  or  foreland,  where  the  wind 
Veers  oft,  as  oft  so  steers,  and  shifts  her  sail: 

So  varied  he,  and  of  his  tortuous  train 
Curled  many  a  wanton  wreath  in  sight  of  Eve, 

To  lure  her  eye.  She,  busied,  heard  the  sound 
Of  rustling  leaves,  hut  minded  not,  as  used 
To  such  disport  before  her  through  the  field. 

From  every  beast,  more  duteous  at  her  call, 

Than  at  Circean  call  the  herd  disguised.4 * 
He,  bolder  now,  uncalled  before  her  stood, 

But  as  in  gaze  admiring :  oft  he  bowed 
His  turret  crest,  and  sleek  enamelled  neck, 
Fawning,  and  licked  the  ground  wdiereon  she  trod. 
His  gentle  dumb  expression  turned  at  length 
The  eye  of  Eve  to  mark  his  play ;  he,  glad 
Of  her  attention  gained,  with  serpent  tongue 
Organic,  or  impulse  of  vocal  air, 

His  fraudulent  temptation  thus  began  : 

Wonder  not,  sovereign  mistress,  if,  perhaps, 

Thou  canst,  who  art  sole  wonder ;  much  less  arm 
Thy  looks,  the  heaven  of  mildness,  with  disdain, 
Displeased  that  I  approach  thee  thus,  and  gaze 
Insatiate,  I  thus  single,  nor  have  feared 


1  Hermione  and  Cadmus. — Fabled  as  changed  into  serpents. 

2  Epidaurus.  Another  name  for  iEsculapius.  the  god  of  physic,  who,  being  sent  for  to  Rome  in  the  time  of  a 
plague,  was  said  to  have  entered  the  city  in  the  form  of  a  serpent. 

3  Ammonian  Jove.—  Said  to  have  conversed  with  his  mother  Olympia  in  the  form  of  a  serpent— the  matron  who, 
as  the  mother  of  Scipio  Africanus,  raised  Rome  to  its  height  of  greatness. 

4  At  Circean  call  the  herd  disguised. — In  allusion  to  Circe,  who  was  said  to  have  turned  men  into  beasts.  (Ovid. 

“  Met.”  xiv.  45.) 


Book  IX.— 537-570] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


217 


Thy  awful  brow,  more  awful  thus  retired. 

Fairest  resemblance  of  thy  Maker  fair, 

Thee  all  things  living  gaze  on,  all  things  thine 
By  gift,  and  thy  celestial  beauty  adore, 

With  ravishment  beheld !  there  best  beheld, 

Where  universally  admired.  But  here, 

In  this  enclosure  wild,  these  beasts  among, 

Beholders  rude,  and  shallow  to  discern 
Half  what  in  thee  is  fair,  one  man  except, 

Who  sees  thee? — and  what  is  one? — who  shouldst  he  seen 
A  goddess  among  gods,  adored  and  served 
By  Angels  numberless,  thy  daily  train. 

So  glozed  the  tempter,  and  his  proem  tuned ; 

Into  the  heart  of  Eve  his  words  made  way, 

Though  at  the  voice  much  marvelling  :  at  length, 

Not  unamazed,  she  thus  in  answer  spake : 

What .  may  this  mean  ?  language  of  man,  pronounced 
By  tongue  of  brute,  and  human  sense  expressed  ! 

The  first,  at  least,  of  these,  I  thought  denied 
To  beasts,  whom  God,  on  their  creation-day, 

Created  mute  to  all  articulate  sound ; 

The  latter  I  demur  for  in  their  looks 
Much  reason,  and  in  their  actions,  oft  appears. 

Thee,  serpent,  subtlest  beast  of  all  the  field 
I  knew,  but  not  with  human  voice  endued ; 

Redouble,  then,  this  miracle,  and  say, 

How  earnest  thou  speakable  of  mute,  and  how 
To  me  so  friendly  grown,  above  the  rest 
Of  brutal  kind,  that  daily  are  in  sight? 

Say,  for  such  wonder  claims  attention  due. 

To  whom  the  guileful  tempter  thus  replied : 

Empress  of  this  fair  world,  resplendent  Eve  ! 

Easy  to  me  it  is  to  tell  thee  all 

What  thou  commandest,  aud  right  thou  shouldst  be  obeyed. 


*  The  latter  I  demur. — Question,  doubt. 


218 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IX.— 571-606 


I  was  at  first  as  other  beasts  that  graze 
The  trodden  herb,  of  abject  thoughts  and  low, 

As  was  my  food ;  nor  aught  hut  food  discerned, 
Or  sex,  and  apprehended  nothing  high  : 

Till,  on  a  day  roving  the  field,  I  chanced 
A  goodly  tree  far  distant  to  behold, 

Loaden  with  fruit  of  fairest  colours  mixed, 

Ruddy  and  gold.  I  nearer  drew  to  gaze ; 

When  from  the  boughs  a  savoury  odour  blown, 
Grateful  to  appetite,  more  pleased  my  sense 
Than  smell  of  sweetest  fennel,  or  the  teats 
Of  ewe  or  goat  dropping  with  milk  at  even, 
Unsucked  of  lamb  or  kid,  that  tend  their  play. 

To  satisfy  the  sharp  desire  I  had 
Of  tasting  those  fair  apples,  I  resolved 
Not  to  defer ;  hunger  and  thurst  at  once, 
Powerful  persuaders,  quickened  at  the  scent 
Of  that  alluring  fruit,  urged  me  so  keen. 

About  the  mossy  trunk  I  wound  me  soon ; 

For,  high  from  ground,  the  branches  would  require 
Thy  utmost  reach,  or  Adam’s :  round  the  tree, 

All  other  beasts  that  saw,  with  like  desire 
Longing  and  envying  stood,  hut  could  not  reach. 
Amid  the  tree  now  got,  where  plenty  hung 
Tempting,  so  nigh,  to  pluck  and  eat  my  fill 
1  spared  not ;  for  such  pleasure,  till  that  hour, 

At  feed  or  fountain,  never  had  I  found. 

Sated  at  length,  ere  long  I  might  perceive 
Strange  alteration  in  me,  to  degree 
Of  reason  in  my  inward  powers,  and  speech 
Wanted  not  long,  though  to  this  shape  retained. 
Thenceforth  to  speculations  high  or  deep 
I  turned  my  thoughts,  and  with  capacious  mind 
Considered  all  things  visible  in  heaven, 

Or  earth,  or  middle ;  all  things  fair  and  good. 

But  all  that  fair  and  good  in  thy  divine 


Book  IX.— 607-642] 


PaKADISE  LOST. 


219 


Semblance,  and  in  thy  beauty’s  heavenly  my, 

United  I  beheld  :  no  fair  to  thine 
Equivalent  or  second !  which  compelled 
Me  thus,  though  importune  perhaps,  to  come 
And  gaze,  and  worship  thee,  of  right  declared 
Sovereign  of  creatures,  universal  dame  ! 

So  talked  the  spirited  sly  snake,  and  Eve, 

Yet  more  amazed,  unwary  thus  replied  : 

Serpent,  thy  overpraising  leaves  in  doubt 
The  virtue  of  that  fruit,  in  thee  first  proved. 

But  say,  where  grows  the  tree  ?  from  hence  how  far '? 
Eor  many  are  the  trees  of  God  that  grow 
In  Paradise,  and  various  yet  unknown 
To  us ;  in  such  abundance  lies  our  choice, 

As  leaves  a  greater  store  of  fruit  untouched, 

Still  hanging  incorruptible,  till  men 

Grow  up  to  their  provision,  and  more  hands 

Help  to  disburden  nature  of  her  birth. 

To  whom  the  wily  adder,  blithe  and  glad  : 
Empress,  the  way  is  ready,  and  not  long ; 

Beyond  a  row  of  myrtles,  on  a  flat, 

Fast  by  a  fountain,  one  small  thicket  past 
Of  blowing  myrrh  and  balm :  if  thou  accept 
My  conduct,  I  can  bring  thee  thither  soon. 

Lead,  then,  said  Eve.  He,  leading,  swiftly  rolled 
In  tangles,  and  made  intricate  seem  straight, 

To  mischief  swift.  Hope  elevates,  and  joy 
Brightens  his  crest.  As  when  a  wandering  fire, 
Compact  of  unctuous  vapour,  which  the  night 
Condenses,  and  the  cold  environs  round, 

Kindled  through  agitation  to  a  flame, 

Which  oft  they  say  some  evil  spirit  attends, 

Hovering  and  blazing  with  delusive  light, 

Misleads  the  amazed  night-wanderer  from  his  way 
To  bogs  and  mires,  and  oft  through  pond  or  pool, 
There  swallowed  up  and  lost,  from  succour  far : 


220 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IX.- 643-078 


So  glistered  the  dire  snake,  and  into  fraud 
Led  Eve,  our  credulous  mother,  to  the  tree 
Of  prohibition,  root  of  all  our  woe ; 

Which,  when  she  saw,  thus  to  her  guide  she  spake  : 

Serpent,  we  might  have  spared  our  coming  hither, 
Fruitless  to  me,  though  fruit  be  here  to  excess, 

The  credit  of  whose  virtue  rests  with  thee ; 

Wondrous,  indeed,  if  cause  of  such  effects! 

But  of  this  tree  we  may  not  taste  nor  touch ; 

God  so  commanded,  and  left  that  command 
Sole  daughter  of  his  voice :  the  rest,  we  live 
Law  to  ourselves ;  our  reason  is  our  law. 

To  whom  the  tempter  guilefully  replied : 

Indeed !  hath  God  then  said  that  of  the  fruit 
Of  all  these  garden-trees  ye  shall  not  eat, 

Yet  lords  declared  of  all  in  earth  or  air? 

To  whom  thus  Eve,  yet  sinless :  Of  the  fruit 
Of  each  tree  in  the  garden  we  may  eat : 

But  of  the  fruit  of  this  fair  tree  amidst 
The  garden,  God  hath  said,  Ye  shall  not  eat 
Thereof,  nor  shall  ye  touch  it,  lest  ye  die. 

She  scarce  had  said,  though  brief,  when  now  more  bold 
The  tempter,  but,  with  show  of  zeal  and  love 
To  man,  and  indignation  at  his  wrong, 

New  part  puts  on  ;  and,  as  to  passion  moved, 

Fluctuates  disturbed,  yet  comely,  and  in  act 
Raised,  as  of  some  great  matter  to  begin. 

As  when,  of  old,  some  orator  renowned, 

In  Athens,  or  free  Rome,  where  eloquence 
Flourished,  since  mute,  to  some  great  cause  addressed, 

Stood  in  himself  collected ;  while  each  part, 

Motion,  each  act,  won  audience  ere  the  tongue, 

Sometimes  in  height  began,  as  no  delay 
Of  preface  brooking,  through  his  zeal  of  right : 

So  standing,  moving,  or  to  height  up-grown, 

The  tempter,  all  impassioned,  thus  began : 


Book  IX.— 679-714] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


221 


Oh,  sacred,  wise,  and  wisdom-giving  plant, 
Mother  of  science  !  now  I  feel  thy  power 
Within  me  clear ;  not  only  to  discern 
Things  in  their  causes,  hut  to  trace  the  ways 
Of  highest  agents,  deemed  however  wise. 

Queen  of  this  universe  !  do  not  believe 
Those  rigid  threats  of  death.  Ye  shall  not  die. 
How  should  ye  ?  By  the  fruit  ?  It  gives  you  life 
To  knowledge.  By  the  Threatener  ?  Look  on  me, 
Me,  who  have  touched  and  tasted,  yet  both  live, 
And  life  more  perfect  have  attained  than  fate 
Meant  me,  by  venturing  higher  than  my  lot. 

Shall  that  be  shut  to  Man,  which  to  the  beast 
Is  open?  Or  will  God  incense  his  ire 
For  such  a  petty  trespass,  and  not  praise 
Rather  your  dauntless  virtue,  whom  the  pain 
Of  death  denounced,  whatever  thing  death  he, 
Deterred  not  from  achieving  what  might  lead 
To  happier  life,  knowledge  of  good  and  evil ; 

Of  good,  how  just  ?  of  evil,  if  what  is  evil 
Be  real,  why  not  known,  since  easier  shunned? 
God,  therefore,  cannot  hurt  ye,  and  be  just ; 

Not  just,  not  God ;  not  feared  then,  nor  obeyed : 
Your  fear  itself  of  death  removes  the  fear. 

Why,  then,  was  this  forbid  ?  Why,  hut  to  awe ; 
Why,  but  to  keep  ye  low  and  ignorant, 

His  worshippers.  He  knows  that  in  the  day 
Ye  eat  thereof,  your  eyes,  that  seem  so  clear, 

Yet  are  but  dim,  shall  presently  he  then 
Opened  and  cleared,  and  ye  shall  he  as  gods, 
Knowing  both  good  and  evil,  as  they  know. 

That  ye  shall  be  as  gods,  since  I  as  man, 

Internal  man,  is  but  proportion  meet ; 

I,  of  brute,  human  ;  ye,  of  human,  gods. 

So  ye  shall  die,  perhaps,  by  putting  off 
Human,  to  put  on  gods ;  death  to  be  wished, 


222 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IX. — 715-750 


Though  threatened,  which  no  worse  than  this  can  bring. 
And  what  are  gods,  that  man  may  not  become 
As  they,  participating  godlike  food? 

The  gods  are  hrst,  and  that  advantage  use 
On  our  belief,  that  all  from  them  proceeds. 

I  question  it ;  for  this  fair  earth  I  see, 

Warmed  by  the  sun,  producing  every  kind ; 

Them,  nothing.  If  they  all  things,  who  enclosed 
Knowledge  of  good  and  evil  in  this  tree, 

That  whoso  eats  thereof,  forthwith  attains 
Wisdom  without  their  leave  ?  And  wherein  lies 
The  offence,  that  man  should  thus  attain  to  know? 
What  can  your  knowledge  hurt  Him,  or  this  tree 
Impart  against  His  will,  if  all  be  His  ? 

Or  is  it  envy  ?  and  can  envy  dwell 

In  heavenly  breasts  ?  These,  these,  and  many  more 

Causes  import  your  need  of  this  fair  fruit. 

Goddess  humane,  reach,  then,  and  freely  taste. 

He  ended  ;  and  his  words,  replete  with  guile, 

Into  her  heart  too  easy  entrance  won  : 

Fixed  on  the  fruit  she  gazed,  which  to  behold 
Might  tempt  alone ;  and  in  her  ears  the  sound 
Yet  rung  of  his  persuasive  words,  impregned 
With  reason,  to  her  seeming,  and  with  truth  : 

Meanwhile  the  hour  of  noon  drew  on,  and  waked 
An  eager  appetite,  raised  by  the  smell 
So  savoury  of  that  fruit,  which,  with  desire, 

Inclinable  now  grown  to  touch  or  taste, 

Solicited  her  longing  eye.  Yet  first, 

Pausing  awhile,  thus  to  herself  she  mused  : 

Great  are  thy  virtues,  doubtless,  best  of  fruits, 
Though  kept  from  Man,  and  worthy  to  be  admired  ; 
Whose  taste,  too  long  forborne,  at  first  assay 
Gave  elocution  to  the  mute,  and  taught 
The  tongue,  not  made  for  speech,  to  speak  thy  praise. 
Thy  praise  He  also,  who  forbids  thy  use, 


■v 


40 


Back  to  the  thicket  slunk 
The  guilty  serpent. 


Book  IX.,  lines  784,  785. 


Book  IX.— 751-780] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


223 


Conceals  not  from  us,  naming  thee  the  tree 
Of  knowledge,  knowledge  both  of  good  and  evil ; 
Forbids  us,  then,  to  taste :  but  His  forbidding 
Commends  thee  more,  while  it  infers  the  good 
By  thee  communicated,  and  our  want : 

For  good  unknown  sure  is  not  bad ;  or,  bad, 

And  yet  unknown,  is  as  not  bad  at  all. 

In  plain,  then,  what  forbids  He  but  to  know, 

Forbids  us  good,  forbids  us  to  be  wfise  ? 

Such  prohibitions  bind  not.  But,  if  death 
Bind  us  with  after-bands,  wThat  profits,  then, 

Our  inward  freedom  ?  In  the  day  we  eat 
Of  this  fair  fruit,  our  doom  is,  wre  shall  die ! 

How  dies  the  serpent?  He  bath  eaten,  and  lives, 
And  knows,  and  speaks,  and  reasons,  and  discerns, 
Irrational  till  then.  For  us  alone 
Was  death  invented?  Or  to  us  denied 
This  intellectual  fruit,  for  beasts  reserved? 

For  beasts  it  seems ;  yet  that  one  beast  which  first 
Hath  tasted  envies  not,  but  brings  with  joy 
The  good  befallen  him,  author  unsuspect, 

Friendly  to  man,  far  from  deceit  or  guile. 

What  fear  I,  then?  Rather,  what  know  to  fear 
Under  this  ignorance  of  good  or  evil, 

Of  God  or  death,  of  law  or  penalty  ? 

Here  grows  the  cure  of  all,  this  fruit  divine, 

Fair  to  the  eye,  inviting  to  the  taste, 

Of  virtue  to  make  wise  :  what  binders,  then, 

To  reach,  and  feed  at  once  both  body  and  mind? 

So  saying,  her  rasli  band,  in  evil  hour, 

Forth  reaching  to  the  fruit,  she  plucked,  she  ate  1 
Earth  felt  the  wound,  and  Nature,  from  her  seat, 
Sighing  through  all  her  works,  gave  signs  of  woe, 
That  all  was  lost.  Back  to  the  thicket  slunk 
The  guilty  serpent ;  and  well  might,  for  Eve, 

Intent  now  only  on  her  taste,  nought,  else 


224 


PARADISE  LOST. 


Book  IX.— 787-822 


Regarded ;  such  delight  till  then,  as  seemed, 

In  fruit  she  never  tasted,  whether  true 
Or  fancied  so,  through  expectation  high 
Of  knowledge ;  nor  was  godhead  from  her  though. 
Greedily  she  engorged  without  restraint, 

And  knew  not  eating  death.  Satiate  at  length, 
And  heightened  as  with  wine,  jocund  and  boon, 
Thus  to  herself  she  pleasingly  began  : 

0  sovereign,  virtuous,  precious  of  all  trees 
In  Paradise !  of  operation  blest 
To  sapience,  hitherto  obscured,  infamed, 

And  thy  fair  fruit  let  hang,  as  to  no  end 
Created ;  but  henceforth  my  early  care, 

Not  without  song,  each  morning,  and  due  praise, 
Shall  tend  thee,  and  the  fertile  burden  ease 
Of  thy  full  branches,  offered  free  to  all  ; 

Till,  dieted  by  thee,  I  grow  mature 
In  knowledge,  as  the  gods,  who  all  things  know ; 
Though  others  envy  what  they  cannot  give  : 

For,  had  the  gift  been  theirs,  it  had  not  here 
Thus  grown.  Experience,  next,  to  thee  I  owe, 

Best  guide  :  not  following  thee,  I  had  remained 
In  ignorance ;  thou  openest  wisdom’s  way, 

And  givest  access,  though  secret  she  retire. 

And  I,  perhaps,  am  secret.  Heaven  is  high, 

High,  and  remote  to  see  from  thence  distinct 
Each  thing  on  earth  ;  and  other  care,  perhaps, 
May  have  diverted  from  continual  watch 
Our  great  Forbidder,  safe  writli  all  his  spies 
About  him.  But  to  Adam  in  what  sort 
Shall  I  appear  ?  Shall  I  to  him  make  known 
As  yet  my  change,  and  give  him  to  partake 
Full  happiness  with  me,  or  rather  not, 

But  keep  the  odds  of  knowledge  in  my  power, 
Without  copartner?  so  to  add  w7hat  wants 
In  female  sex,  the  more  to  draw  his  love, 


Book  IX.- 823-858] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


And  render  me  more  equal,  and,  perhaps, 

A  tiling  not  undesirable,  sometimes 
Superior ;  for,  inferior,  who  is  free  ? 

This  may  he  well.  But  what  if  God  have  seen, 

And  death  ensue  ?  Then  I  shall  be  no  more  ! 

And  Adam,  wedded  to  another  Eve, 

Shall  live  with  her,  enjoying ;  I  extinct : 

A  death  to  think !  Confirmed,  then,  I  resolve, 

Adam  shall  share  with  me  in  bliss  or  woe ; 

So  dear  I  love  him,  that  with  him  all  deaths 
I  could  endure — without  him  live  no  life. 

So  saying,  from  the  tree  her  step  she  turned, 
But  first  low  reverence  done,  as  to  the  power 
That  dwelt  within,  whose  presence  had  infused 
Into  the  plant  sciential  sap,  derived 
From  nectar,  drink  of  gods.  Adam,  the  while, 
Waiting,  desirous  her  return,  had  wove 
Of  choicest  flowers  a  garland,  to  adorn 
Her  tresses,  and  her  rural  labours  crown, 

As  reapers  oft  are  wont  their  harvest  queen. 

Great  joy  he  promised  to  his  thoughts,  and  new 
Solace  in  her  return,  so  long  delayed : 

Yet  oft  his  heart,  divine  of  something  ill, 

Misgave  him ;  he  the  faltering  measure  felt, 

And  forth  to  meet  her  went,  the  way  she  took 
The  morn  when  first  they  parted.  By  the  tree 
Of  knowledge  he  must  pass,  there  he  her  met. 
Scarce  from  the  tree  returning ;  in  her  hand 
A  bough  of  fairest  fruit,  that  downy  smiled, 

New  gathered,  and  ambrosial  smell  diffused. 

To  him  she  hasted ;  in  her  face  excuse 
Came  prologue,  and  apology  too  prompt ; 

Which,  with  bland  words  at  will,  she  thus  addressed : 

Hast  thou  not  wondered,  Adam,  at  my  stay  ? 
Thee  I  have  missed,  and  thought  it  long,  deprived 
Thy  presence ;  agony  of  love  till  now 


226 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IX.- 859-894 


Not  felt,  nor  shall  be  twice;  for  never  more 
Mean  I  to  try,  what  rash  untried  I  sought, 

The  pain  of  absence  from  thy  sight.  But  strange 
Hath  been  the  cause,  and  wonderful  to  hear. 

This  tree  is  not,  as  we  are  told,  a  tree 
Of  danger  tasted,  nor  to  evil  unknown 
Opening  the  way,  hut  of  divine  effect 
To  open  eyes,  and  make  them  gods  who  taste ; 

And  hath  been  tasted  such.  The  serpent,  wise, 

Or  not  restrained  as  we,  or  not  obeying, 

Hath  eaten  of  the  fruit,  and  is  become, 

Not  dead,  as  we  are  threatened,  hut  thenceforth 
Endued  with  human  voice  and  human  sense, 

Reasoning  to  admiration,  and  with  me 
Persuasively  hath  so  prevailed,  that  I 
Have  also  tasted,  and  have  also  found 
The  effect  to  correspond ;  opener  mine  eyes 
Him  erst,  dilated  spirits,  ampler  heart, 

And  growing  up  to  Godhead  ;  which  for  thee 
Chiefly  I  sought ;  without  thee  can  despise. 

For  bliss,  as  thou  hast  part,  to  me  is  bliss; 

Tedious,  unshared  with  thee,  and  odious  soon. 

Thou,  therefore,  also  taste,  that  equal  lot 
May  join  us — equal  joy  as  equal  love  ; 

Lest,  thou  not  tasting,  different  degree 
Disjoin  us,  and  I  then  too  late  renounce 
Deity  for  thee,  when  fate  will  not  permit. 

Thus  Eve,  with  countenance  blithe,  her  story  told  ; 
But  in  her  cheek  distemper  flushing  glowed. 

On  the  other  side,  Adam,  soon  as  he  heard 
The  fatal  trespass  done  by  Eve,  amazed, 

Astonied  stood  and  blank,  wdiile  horror  chill 
Ran  through  his  veins,  and  all  his  joints  relaxed  ; 

From  his  slack  hand  the  garland,  wreathed  for  Five, 
Dowm  dropt,  and  all  the  faded  roses  shed  ; 

Speechless  he  stood  and  pale ;  till  thus,  at  length, 


Book  IX.— 895-930| 


PARADISE  LOST. 


227 


First  to  himself,  he  inward  silence  broke : 

Oh,  fairest  of  creation,  last  and  best 
Of  all  God’s  wTorks  !  creature,  in  whom  excelled 
Whatever  can  to  sight  or  thought  be  formed, 

Holy,  divine,  good,  amiable,  or  sweet ! 

How  art  thou  lost !  how  on  a  sudden  lost, 

Defaced,  deflowered,  and  now  to  death  devote  ! 
Bather,  how  hast  thou  yielded  to  transgress 
The  strict  forbiddance — how  to  violate 
The  sacred  fruit  forbidden  ?  Some  cursed  fraud 
Of  enemy  hath  beguiled  thee,  yet  unknown, 

And  me  with  thee  hath  ruined ;  for  with  thee 
Certain  my  resolution  is  to  die. 

How  can  I  live  without  thee?  How  forego 
Thy  sweet  converse,  and  love  so  dearly  joined, 

To  live  again  in  these  wild  woods  forlorn? 

Should  God  create  another  Eve,  and  I 
Another  rib  afford,  yet  loss  of  thee 
Would  never  from  my  heart :  no,  no  !  I  feel 
The  link  of  nature  draw  me,  flesh  of  flesh, 

Bone  of  my  hone  thou  art,  and  from  thy  state 
Mine  never  shall  be  parted,  bliss  or  woe. 

So  having  said,  as  one  from  sad  dismay 
Becomforted,  and  after  thoughts  disturbed, 

Submitting  to  what  seemed  remediless, 

Thus,  in  calm  mood,  his  wmrds  to  Eve  he  turned  : 

Bold  deed  thou  hast  presumed,  adventurous  Eve. 
And  peril  great  provoked,  who  thus  hast  dared, 

Had  it  been  only  coveting  to  eye 
That  sacred  fruit,  sacred  to  abstinence, 

Much  more  to  taste  it,  under  ban  to  touch. 

But  past,  who  can  recall,  or  done,  undo? 

Not  God  omnipotent,  nor  fate.  Yet  so 
Perhaps  thou  slialt  not  die,  perhaps  the  fact 
Is  not  so  heinous  now,  foretasted  fruit, 

Profaned  first  by  the  serpent,  by  him  first 


228 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IX.— 931-96(3 


Made  common,  and  unhallowed,  ere  our  taste, 

Nor  yet  on  him  found  deadly ;  lie  yet  lives ; 

Lives,  as  thou  saidst,  and  gains  to  live,  as  Man, 
Higher  decree  of  life  ;  inducement  strong 
To  us,  as  likely,  tasting,  to  attain 
Proportional  ascent ;  which  cannnot  be 
But  to  he  gods,  or  angels,  demi-gods. 

Nor  can  I  think  that  God,  Creator  wise, 

Though  threatening,  will  in  earnest  so  destroy 
Us,  his  prime  creatures,  dignified  so  high, 

Set  over  all  his  works ;  which,  in  our  fall, 

Por  us  created,  needs  with  us  must  fail, 

Dependent  made ;  so  God  shall  uncreate, 

Be  frustrate,  do,  undo,  and  labour  lose  : 

Not  well  conceived  of  God,  who,  though  his  power 

Creation  could  repeat,  yet  would  he  loth 

Us  to  abolish,  lest  the  Adversary 

Triumph  and  say Fickle  their  state,  whom  God 

Most  favours;  who  can  please  Him  long?  Me  first 

He  ruined,  now  mankind  ;  whom  will  he  next  ? 

Matter  of  scorn,  not  to  he  given  the  Foe. 

However,  I  with  thee  have  fixed  my  lot, 

Certain  to  undergo  like  doom  :  if  death 
Consort  with  thee  death  is  to  me  as  life : 

So  forcible  within  my  heart  I  feel 

The  bond  of  nature  draw  me  to  my  own ; 

My  own  in  thee,  for  what  thou  art  is  mine ; 

Our  state  cannot  he  severed ;  we  are  one, 

One  flesh ;  to  lose  thee  were  to  lose  myself. 

So  Adam ;  and  thus  Eve  to  him  replied : 

Oh,  glorious  trial  of  exceeding  love, 

Illustrious  evidence,  example  high ! 

Engaging  me  to  emulate ;  hut,  short 
Of  thy  perfection,  liow^  shall  I  attain  ? 

Adam !  from  whose  dear  side-  I  boast  me  sprung. 
And  gladly  of  our  union  hear  thee  speak, 


i 


Book  IX.— 967-1002]  PARADISE  LOST.  229 

One  heart,  one  soul  in  both ;  whereof  good  proof 
This  day  affords,  declaring  thee  resolved, 

Rather  than  death,  or  aught  than  death  more  dread, 

Shall  separate  us,  linked  in  love  so  dear, 

To  undergo  with  me  one  guilt,  one  crime, 

If  any  be,  of  tasting  this  fair  fruit, 

Whose  virtue — for  of  good  still  good  proceeds, 

Direct,  or  by  occasion — hath  presented 
This  happy  trial  of  thy  love,  which  else 
So  eminently  never  had  been  known. 

Were  it  I  thought  death  menaced  would  ensue 
This  my  attempt,  I  would  sustain  alone 
The  worst,  and  not  persuade  thee  ;  rather  die 
Deserted,  than  oblige  thee  with  a  fact 
Pernicious  to  thy  peace,  chiefly  assured 
Remarkably  so  late  of  thy  so  true, 

So  faithful  love,  unequalled  ;  hut  I  feel 
Far  otherwise  the  event ;  not  death,  hut  life 
Augmented,  opened  eyes,  new  hopes,  new  joys, 

Taste  so  divine,  that  what  of  sweet  before 

Hath  touched  my  sense,  flat  seems  to  this,  and  harsh. 

On  my  experience,  Adam,  freely  taste, 

And  fear  of  death  deliver  to  the  winds. 

So  saying,  she  embraced  him,  and  for  joy 
Tenderly  wept ;  much  won,  that  he  his  love 
Had  so  ennobled,  as  of  choice  to  incur 
Divine  displeasure  for  her  sake,  or  death. 

In  recompense — for  such  compliance  had 
Such  recompense  best  merits, — from  the  bough 
She  gave  him  of  that  fair  enticing  fruit 
With  liberal  hand :  he  scrupled  not  to  eat, 

Against  his  better  knowledge :  not  deceived, 

But  fondly  overcome  with  female  charm. 

Earth  trembled  from  her  entrails,  as  again 
In  pangs ;  and  nature  gave  a  second  groan  ; 

Sky  loured,  and,  muttering  thunder,  some  sad  drops 


230 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IX.— 1003-1038 


Wept  at  completing  of  the  mortal  sin 
Original ;  while  Adam  took  no  thought, 

Eating  his  fill  ;  nor  Eve  to  iterate 

Her  former  trespass  feared,  the  more  to  soothe 

Him  with  her  loved  society  ;  that  now. 

As  with  new  wine  intoxicated  both, 

They  swim  in  mirth,  and  fancy  that  they  feel 
Divinity  within  them  breeding  wings, 

Wherewith  to  scorn  the  earth.  But  that  false  fruit 
Far  other  operation  first  displayed, 

Carnal  desire  inflaming  :  he  on  Eve 
Began  to  cast  lascivious  eyes  ;  she  him 
As  wantonly  repaid ;  in  lust  they  burn, 

Till  Adam  thus  ’gan  Eve  to  dalliance  move : 

Eve,  now  I  see  thou  art  exact  of  taste, 

And  elegant,  of  sapience  no  small  part ; 

Since  to  each  meaning  savour  we  apply, 

And  palate  call  judicious  ;  I  the  praise 
Yield  thee,  so  well  this  day  thou  hast  purveyed. 

Much  pleasure  we  have  lost,  while  we  abstained 

From  this  delightful  fruit,  nor  known  till  now 
True  relish,  tasting.  If  such  pleasure  he 
In  things  to  us  forbidden,  it  might  he  wished, 

For  this  one  tree  had  been  forbidden  ten. 

But  come,  so  well  refreshed,  now  let  us  play, 

As  meet  is,  after  such  delicious  fare ; 

For  never  did  thy  beauty,  since  the  day 
I  saw  thee  first,  and  wedded  thee,  adorned 
With  all  perfections,  so  inflame  my  sense 
With  ardour  to  enjoy  thee,  fairer  now 
Than  ever ;  bounty  of  this  virtuous  tree  ! 

So  said  he,  and  forbore  not  glance  or  toy 
Of  amourous  intent,  well  understood 
Of  Eve,  whose  eyes  darted  contagious  fire. 

Her  hand  he  seized ;  and  to  a  shady  bank, 

Thick  overhead  with  verdant  roof  embowered, 


Book  IX.— 1039-1074] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


231 


He  led  her,  nothing  loth  ;  flowers  were  the  couch; 
Pansies,  and  violets,  and  asphodel, 

’  And  hyacinth ;  earth’s  freshest,  softest  lap. 

There  they  their  fill  of  love  and  love’s  disport 
Took  largely,  of  their  mutual  guilt  the  seal, 

The  solace  of  their  sin ;  till  dewy  sleep 
Oppressed  them,  wearied  with  their  amourous  play. 

Soon  as  the  force  of  that  fallacious  fruit, 

That  with  exhilarating  vapour  bland, 

About  their  spirits  had  played,  and  inmost  powers 
Made  *  err,  was  now  exhaled  ;  and  grosser  sleep, 

Bred  of  unkindly  fumes,  with  conscious  dreams 
Encumbered,  now  had  left  them  ;  up  they  rose 
As  from  unrest,  and,  each  the  other  viewing, 

Soon  found  their  eyes  how  opened,  and  their  minds 
How  darkened.  Innocence,  that,  as  a  veil, 

Had  shadowed  them  from  knowing  ill,  was  gone ; 
Just  confidence,  and  native  righteousness, 

And  honour,  from  about  them,  naked  left 
To  guilty  shame :  he  covered,  but  his  robe 
Uncovered  more.  So  rose  the  Danite  strong, 
Herculean  Samson,  from  the  harlot-lap 
Of  Pliilistean  Dalilah,  and  waked 
Shorn  of  his  strength ;  they,  destitute  and  bare 
Of  all  their  virtue,  silent,  and  in  face 
Confounded ;  long  they  sat,  as  stricken  mute ; 

Till  Adam,  though  not  less  than  Eve  abashed, 

At  length  gave  utterance  to  these  words  constrained: 

0  Eve,  in  evil  hour  thou  didst  give  ear 
To  that  false  worm,  of  whomsoever  taught 
To  counterfeit  man’s  voice ;  true  in  our  fall, 

False  in  our  promised  rising  ;  since  our  eyes 
Opened  we  find,  indeed,  and  find  we  know 
Both  good  and  evil ;  good  lost,  and  evil  got ; 

Bad  fruit  of  knowledge,  if  this  be  to  know, 

Which  leaves  us  naked  thus,  of  honor  void, 


232 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IX.— 1075-1110 


Of  innocence,  of  faith,  ot  purity, 

Our  wonted  ornaments  now  soiled  and  stained, 

And  in  our  faces  evident  the  signs 
Of  foul  concupiscence ;  whence  evil  store ; 

Even  shame,  the  last  of  evils  ;  of  the  first 
Be  sure  then.  How  shall  I  behold  the  face 
Henceforth  of  God  or  Angel,  erst  with  joy 
And  rapture  so  oft  beheld?  Those  heavenly  shapes 
Will  dazzle  now  this  earthly,  with  their  blaze 
Insufferably  bright.  0  !  might  I  here 
In  solitude  live  savage,  in  some  glade 
Obscured,  where  highest  woods,  impenetrable 
To  star  or  sun  light,  spread  their  umbrage  broad 
And  brown  as  evening  !  Cover  me,  ye  pines ! 

Ye  cedars,  with  innumerable  houghs 

Hide  me,  where  I  may  never  see  them  more ! 

But  let  us  now,  in  bad  plight,  devise 
What  best  may,  for  the  present,  serve  to  hide 
The  parts  of  each  from  other,  that  seem  most 
To  shame  obnoxious,  and  unseemliest  seen. 

Some  tree,  whose  broad  smooth  leaves,  together  sewed, 
And  girded  on  our  loins,  may  cover  round 
Those  middle  parts ;  that  this  new-comer,  Shame, 

There  sit  not,  and  reproach  us  as  unclean. 

So  counselled  he,  and  both  together  went 
Into  the  thickest  wood  ;  there  soon  they  chose 
The  fig-tree,  not  that  kind  for  fruit  renowmed, 

But  such  as,  at  this  day,  to  Indians  known, 

In  Malabar  or  Decan  spreads  her  arms, 

Branching  so  broad  and  long,  that  in  the  ground 
The  bended  twigs  take  root,  and  daughters  grow 
About  the  mother-tree,  a  pillared  shade, 

High  over-arched,  and  echoing  walks  between  ; 

There  oft  the  Indian  herdsman,  shunning  heat, 

Shelters  in  cool,  and  tends  his  pasturing  herds 
At  loop-holes  cut  through  thickest  shade.  Those  leaves 


41  Nor  only  tears 

Rained  at  their  eyes,  but  high  winds  woi'se  within 
Began  to  rise. 

Booh  IX.,  lines  1121 — 1123. 


Book  IX.— 1111-1146] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


233 


They  gathered,  broad  as  Amazonian  targe, 

And,  with  what  skill  they  had,  together  sewed, 

To  gird  their  waist :  vain  covering,  if  to  hide 
Their  guilt  and  dreaded  shame !  Oh,  how  unlike 
To  that  first  naked  glory !  Such,  of  late, 

Columbus  found  the  American,  so  girt 
With  feather’d  cincture ;  naked  else,  and  wild 
Among  the  trees  on  isles  and  woody  shores. 

Thus  fenced,  and,  as  they  thought,  their  shame  in  part 
Covered,  hut  not  at  rest  or  ease  of  mind, 

They  sat  them  down  to  weep.  Nor  only  tears 
Rained  at  their  eyes,  but  high  winds  worse  within 
Began  to  rise  ;  high  passions,  anger,  hate, 

Mistrust,  suspicion,  discord,  and  shook  sore 
Their  inward  state  of  mind,  calm  region  once, 

And  full  of  peace,  now  tost  and  turbulent. 

For  understanding  ruled  not,  and  the  will 
Heard  not  her  lore ;  both  in  subjection  now 

\  * 

To  sensual  appetite,  who,  from  beneath, 

Usurping  over  sovereign  reason,  claimed, 

Superior  sway.  From  thus  distempered  breast, 

Adam,  estranged  in  look  and  altered  style, 

Speech  intermitted  thus  to  Eve  renewed : 

Would  thou  liadst  hearkened  to  my  words,  and  stayed 
With  me,  as  I  besought  thee,  when  that  strange 
Desire  of  wandering,  this  unhappy  morn, 

I  know  not  whence  possessed  thee  ;  we  had  then 
Remained  still  happy ;  not  as  now,  despoiled 
Of  all  our  good ;  shamed,  naked,  miserable  ! 

Let  none  henceforth  seek  needless  cause  to  approve 
The  faith  they  owe ;  when  earnestly  they  seek 
Such  proof,  conclude  they  then  begin  to  fail. 

To  whom,  soon  moved  with  touch  of  blame,  thus  Eve : 

What  words  have  passed  thy  lips,  Adam,  severe? 

Imputest  thou  that  to  my  default,  or  will 
Of  wandering,  as  thou  callest  it,  which  who  knows 


234 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  IX.— 1147-1182 


But  might  as  ill  have  happened  thou  being  by, 

Or  to  thyself,  perhaps  ?  Hadst  thou  been  there, 

Or  here  the  attempt,  thou  couldst  not  have  discerned 
Fraud  in  the  serpent,  speaking  as  he  spake ; 

No  ground  of  dimity  between  us  known, 

Why  he  should  mean  me  ill,  or  seek  to  harm. 

Was  I  to  have  never  parted  from  thy  side? 

As  good  have  grown  there  still,  a  lifeless  rib. 

Being  as  I  am,  why  didst  not  thou,  the  head, 
Command  me  absolutely  not  to  go, 

Going  into  such  danger,  as  thou  saidst? 

Too  facile,  then,  thou  didst  not  much  gainsay : 

Nay,  didst  permit,  approve,  and  fair  dismiss. 

Hadst  thou  been  firm  and  fixed  in  thy  dissent, 
Neither  had  I  trangressed,  nor  thou  with  me. 

To  whom,  then  first  incensed,  Adam  replied : 

Is  this  the  love,  is  this  the  recompense 
Of  mine  to  thee,  ingrateful  Eve,  expressed 
Immutable  when  thou  wert  lost,  not  I ; 

Who  might  have  lived,  and  ’joyed  immortal  bliss, 
Yet  willingly  chose  rather  death  with  thee? 

And  am  I  now  upbraided  as  the  cause 
Of  thy  transgressing?  Not  enough  severe, 

It  seems,  in  my  restraint :  wrhat  could  I  more  ? 

I  warned  thee,  I  admonished  thee,  foretold 

The  danger,  and  the  lurking  Enemy 

That  lay  in  wTait ;  beyond  this  had  been  force, 

And  force  upon  free-will  hath  here  no  place. 

But  confidence  then  bore  thee  on ;  secure 
Either  to  meet  no  danger,  or  to  find 
Matter  of  glorious  trial ;  and,  perhaps, 

I  also  erred  in  overmuch  admiring 
What  seemed  in  thee  so  perfect,  that  I  thought 
No  evil  durst  attempt  thee.  But  I  rue 
That  error  now,  which  is  become  my  crime, 

And  thou  the  accuser.  Thus  it  shall  befall 


Book  IX.— 1183-1189] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


235 


Him  who,  to  worth  in  woman  overtrusting, 

Lets  her  will  rule :  restraint  she  will  not  brook ; 
And  left  to  herself,  if  evil  thence  ensue, 

She  first  his  weak  indulgence  will  accuse. 

Thus  they  in  mutual  accusation  spent 
The  fruitless  hours,  hut  neither  self-condemning ; 
And  of  their  vain  contest  appeared  no  end. 


BOOK  X. 


Man’s  transgression  known,  the  guardian  angels  forsake  Paradise,  and  return  up  to  heaven  to  approve  their  vig¬ 
ilance,  and  are  approved ;  God  declaring  that  the  entrance  of  Satan  could  not  be  by  them  prevented.  He 
sends  His  Son  to  judge  the  transgressors;  who  descends,  and  gives  sentence  accordingly ;  then,  in  pity,  clothes 
them  both,  and  re-ascends.  Sin  and  Death,  sitting  till  then  at  the  gates  of  hell,  by  wondrous  sympathy 
feeling  the  success  of  Satan  in  this  new  world,  and  the  sin  by  man  there  committed,  resolve  to  sit  no  longer 
confined  in  hell,  but  to  follow  Satan,  their  sire,  up  to  the  place  of  man.  To  make  the  way  easier  from  hell 
to  this  world  to  and  fro,  they  pave  a  broad  highway  or  bridge  over  Chaos,  according  to  the  track  that  Satan 
first  made;  then,  preparing  for  earth,  they  meet  him,  proud  of  his  success,  returning  to  hell;  their  mutual 
gratulation.  Satan  arrives  at  Pandemonium ;  in  full  assembly  relates,  with  boasting,  his  success  against  man; 
instead  of  applause  is  entertained  with  a  general  hiss  by  all  his  audience,  transformed,  with  himself  also, 
suddenly  into  serpents,  according  to  his  doom  given  in  Paradise;  then,  deluded  with  a  show  of  the  forbidden 
tree  springing  up  before  them,  they  greedily  reaching  to  take  of  the  fruit,  chew  dust  and  bitter  ashes.  The 
proceedings  of  Sin  and  Death ;  God  foretells  the  final  victory  of  His  Son  over  them,  and  the  renewing  of  all  things ; 
but,  for  the  present  commands  His  angels  to  make  several  alterations  in  the  heavens  and  elements.  Adam 
more  and  more  perceiving  his  fallen  condition,  heavily  bewails,  rejects  the  condolement  of  Eve;  she  persists, 
and  at  length  appeases  him :  then,  to  evade  the  curse  likely  to  fall  on  their  offspring,  proposes  to  Adam  vio¬ 
lent  ways,  which  he  approves  not;  but  conceiving  better  hope,  puts  her  in  mind  of  the  late  promise  made 
them,  that  her  seed  should  be  revenged  on  the  serpent;  and  exhorts  her,  with  him,  to  seek  peace  of  the  of¬ 
fended  Deity,  by  repentance  and  supplication. 

M  EANWHJLE  the  heinous  and  despiteful  act 
Of  Satan  done  in  Paradise ;  and  how 
He,  in  the  serpent,  had  perverted  Eve, 

Her  husband  she,  to  taste  the  fatal  fruit, 

Was  known  in  heaven — for  what  can  ’scape  the  eye 
Of  God  all-seeing,  or  deceive  His  heart 
Omniscient?  who,  in  all  things  wise  and  just, 

Hindered  not  Satan  to  attempt  the  mind 
Of  man,  with  strength  entire,  and  free-will  armed 
Complete  to  have  discovered  and  repulsed 
Whatever  wiles  of  foe  or  seeming  friend. 

For  still  they  knew,  and  ought  to  have  still  remembered, 

The  high  injunction,  not  to  taste  that  fruit, 

Whoever  tempted  ;  which  they,  not  obeying, 

Incurred — what  could  they  less  ? — the  penalty  ; 

And  manifold  in  sin,  deserved  to  fall. 

Up  into  heaven  from  Paradise,  in  haste, 

The  Angelic  guards  ascended,  mute  and  sad, 

For  Man  ;  for  of  his  state  by  this  they  knew, 

Much  wondering  how  the  subtle  Fiend  had  stolen 


Book  X.— 21-56] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


287 


Entrance  unseen.  Soon  as  the  unwelcome  news 
From  earth  arrived  at  heaven-gate,  displeased 
All  were  who  heard ;  dim  sadness  did  not  spare 
That  time  celestial  visages,  yet,  mixed 
With  pity,  violated  not  their  bliss. 

About  the  new-arrived,  in  multitudes, 

The  ethereal  people  ran,  to  hear  and  know 
How  all  befell.  They,  towards  the  throne  supreme. 
Accountable,  made  haste,  to  make  appear, 

With  righteous  plea,  their  utmost  vigilance, 

And  easily  approved ;  when  the  Most  High, 

Eternal  Father,  from  his  secret  cloud 
Amidst,  in  thunder  uttered  thus  his  voice : 

Assembled  Angels,  and  ye  Powers  returned 
From  unsuccessful  charge,  be  not  dismayed, 

Nor  troubled  at  these  tidings  from  the  Earth, 

Which  your  sincerest  care  could  not  prevent ; 

Foretold  so  lately  what  wTould  come  to  pass, 

When  first  this  tempter  crossed  the  gulf  from  hell . 

I  told  ye  then  he  should  prevail,  and  speed 
On  his  bad  errand ;  man  should  be  seduced, 

And  flattered  out  of  all,  believing  lies 
Against  his  Maker ;  no  decree  of  mine 
Concurring  to  necessitate  his  fall, 

Or  touch  with  lightest  moment  of  impulse 
His  free-will,  to  her  own  inclining  left 
In  even  scale.  But  fallen  he  is ;  and  now 
What  rests,  but  that  the  mortal  sentence  pass 
On  his  transgression,  death  denounced  that  day? 
Which  he  presumes  already  vain  and  void, 

Because  not  yet  inflicted,  as  he  feared, 

By  some  immediate  stroke ;  but  soon  shall  find 
Forbearance  no  acquittance,  ere  day  end. 

Justice  shall  not  return,  as  bounty,  scorned. 

But  whom  send  I  to  judge  them  ?  Whom  but  Thee, 
Vicegerent  Son?  To  thee  I  have  transferred 


238 


PARADISE  LOST. 


Book  X.— 57-92 


All  judgment,  whether  in  Heaven,  or  Earth,  or  Hell. 
Easy  it  may  be  seen  that  I  intend 
Mercy  colleague  with  justice,  sending  Thee, 

Man’s  Friend,  his  Mediator,  his  designed 
Both  Ransom  and  Redeemer  voluntary, 

And,  destined  Man  himself,  to  judge  man  fallen. 

So  spake  the  Father ;  and,  unfolding  bright 
Toward  the  right  hand  his  glory,  on  the  Son 
Blazed  forth  unclouded  deity :  He  full 
Resplendent  all  his  Father  manifest 
Expressed,  and  thus  divinely  answered  mild : 

Father  Eternal,  thine  is  to  decree ; 

Mine,  both  in  heaven  and  earth,  to  do  thy  will 
Supreme ;  that  thou  in  me,  thy  Son  beloved, 

Mayest  ever  rest  well  pleased.  I  go  to  judge 
On  earth  these  thy  transgressors  ;  but  thou  know’st, 
Whoever  judged,  the  worst  on  me  must  light, 

When  time  shall  be ;  for  so  I  undertook 
Before  Thee ;  and,  not  repenting,  this  obtain 
Of  right,  that  I  may  mitigate  their  doom 
On  me  derived ;  yet  I  shall  temper  so 
Justice  with  mercy,  as  may  illustrate  most 
Them  fully  satisfied,  and  thee  appease. 

Attendance  none  shall  need,  nor  train,  where  none 
Are  to  behold  the  judgment,  but  the  judged, 

Those  two  :  the  third,  best  absent,  is  condemned, 
Convict  by  flight,  and  rebel  to  all  law  : 

Conviction  to  the  serpent  none  belongs. 

Thus  saying,  from  his  radiant  seat  he  rose 
Of  high  collateral  glory.  Him,  Thrones  and  Powers, 
Princedoms,  and  Dominations  ministrant, 

Accompanied  to  Heaven-gate ;  from  whence 
Eden,  and  all  the  coast,  in  prospect  lay. 

Down  he  descended  straight ;  the  speed  of  Gods 
Time  counts  not,  though  with  swiftest  minutes  winged. 
Now  was  the  sun  in  western  cadence  low 


They  heard, 

from  His  presence  hid  themselves  among 
thickest  trees. 

Booh  X lines  99 — 101. 


Book  X.— 93-128] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


239 


From  noon  and  gentle  airs,  due  at  their  hour, 

To  fan  the  earth,  now  waked,  and  usher  in 

The  evening  cool ;  when  He,  from  wrath  more  cool, 

Came,  the  mild  judge  and  intercessor  both, 

To  sentence  Man.  The  voice  of  God  they  heard 

Now  walking  in  the  garden,  by  soft  winds 

Brought  to  their  ears,  while  day  declined.  They  heard, 

And  from  His  presence  hid  themselves  among 

The  thickest  trees,  both  man  and  wife  ;  till  God, 

Approaching,  thus  to  Adam  called  aloud : 

Where  art  thou,  Adam,  wont  with  joy  to  meet 
My  coming,  seen  far  ofF?  I  miss  thee  here, 

Not  pleased,  thus  entertained  with  solitude, 

Where  obvious  duty  erewhile  appeared  unsought : 

Or  come  I  less  conspicuous,  or  what  change 
Absents  thee,  or  what  chance  detains  ?  Come  forth  ! 

He  came,  and  with  him,  Eve,  more  loath,  though  first 
To  offend ;  discountenanced  both,  and  discomposed ; 

Love  was  not  in  their  looks,  either  to  God, 

Or  to  each  other ;  hut  apparent  guilt, 

And  shame,  and  perturbation,  and  despair ; 

Anger,  and  obstinacy,  and  hate,  and  guile. 

Whence  Adam,  faltering  long,  thus  answered  brief : 

I  heard  thee  in  the  garden,  and  of  thy  voice 
Afraid,  being  naked,  hid  myself.  To  whom 
The  gracious  judge,  without  revile,  replied : 

My  voice  thou  oft  hast  heard,  and  hast  not  feared, 
But  still  rejoiced  ;  how'  is  it  now  become 
So  dreadful  to  thee  ?  That  thou  art  naked,  who 
Hath  told  thee  ?  Hast  thou  eaten  of  the  tree 
Whereof  I  gave  thee  charge  thou  shouldst  not  eat? 

To  whom  thus  Adam,  sore  beset,  replied  : 

0  Heaven !  in  evil  strait  this  day  I  stand 
Before  my  judge ;  either  to  undergo 
Myself  the  total  crime,  or  to  accuse 
My  other  self,  the  partner  of  my  life  ; 


240 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  X. — 129-162 


Whose  failing,  while  her  faith  to  me  remains, 

I  should  conceal,  and  not  expose  to  blame, 

By  my  complaint ;  but  strict  necessity 
Subdues  me,  and  calamitous  constraint, 

Lest  on  my  head  both  sin  and  punishment, 

However  insupportable,  be  all 

Devolved ;  though,  should  I  hold  my  peace,  yet  thou 
Wouldst  easily  detect  what  I  conceal. 

This  woman,  whom  thou  madest  to  he  my  help, 

And  gavest  me  as  thy  perfect  gift,  so  good, 

So  fit,  so  acceptable,  so  divine, 

That  from  her  hand  I  could  suspect  no  ill, 

And  what  she  did,  whatever  in  itself, 

Her  doing  seemed  to  justify  the  deed  ; 

She  gave  me  of  the  tree,  and  I  did  eat. 

To  whom  the  sovereign  Presence  thus  replied  : 

Was  she  thy  God,  that  her  thou  didst  obey 
Before  His  voice  ?  Or  was  she  made  thy  guide, 
Superior,  or  but  equal,  that  to  her 
Thou  didst  resign  thy  manhood,  and  the  place 
Wherein  God  set  thee  above  her,  made  of  thee, 

And  for  thee,  whose  perfection  far  excelled 
Hers  in  all  real  dignity  ?  Adorned 
She  was,  indeed,  and  lovety,  to  attract 
Thy  love,  not  thy  subjection  ;  and  her  gifts 
Were  such  as  under  government  well  seemed, 

Unseemly  to  bear  rule,  which  was  thy  part 
And  person,  liadst  thou  known  thyself  aright. 

So  having  said,  he  thus  to  Eve  in  few 
Say,  woman,  what  is  this  which  thou  hast  done? 

To  whom  sad  Eve,  with  shame  nigh  overwhelmed, 
Confessing  soon,  yet  not  before  her  judge 
Bold  or  loquacious,  thus  abashed  replied  : 

The  serpent  me  beguiled,  and  I  did  eat. 


1  Thus  to  Eve  in  few. — In  few  words. 


Book  X.— 163-196] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


241 


Which  when  the  Lord  God  heard,  without  delay 
To  judgment  he  proceeded  on  the  accused 
Serpent,  though  brute,  unable  to  transfer 
The  guilt  on  him  who  made  him  instrument 
Of  mischief,  and  polluted  from  the  end 
Of  his  creation  ;  justly  then  accursed, 

As  vitiated  in  nature.  More  to  know 
Concerned  not  man — since  he  no  further  knew — 

Nor  altered  his  offence.  Yet  God  at  last 
To  Satan,  first  in  sin,  his  doom  applied, 

Though  in  mysterious  terms,  judged  as  then  best ; 
And  on  the  serpent  thus  his  curse  let  fall : 

Because  thou  hast1  done  this,  thou  art  accursed 
Above  all  cattle,  each  beast  of  the  field  ; 

Upon  thy  belly  grovelling  thou  shalt  go, 

And  dust  shalt  eat  all  the  days  of  thy  life. 

Between  thee  and  the  woman  I  will  put 
Enmity,  and  between  thine  and  her  seed  ; 

Her  seed  shall  bruise  thy  head,  thou  bruise  his  heel. 

So  spake  this  oracle,  then  verified, 

When  Jesus,  Son  of  Mary,  second  Eve, 

Saw  Satan  fall,  like  lightning  down  from  heaven, 
Prince  of  the  air  ;  then,  rising  from  his  grave, 
Spoiled  Principalities  and  Powers,  triumphed 
In  open  show  ;  and,  with  ascension  bright, 

Captivity  led  captive  through  the  air, 

The  realm  itself  of  Satan,  long  usurped  ; 

Whom  He  shall  tread  at  last  under  our  feet, 

Even  He,  who  now  foretold  his  fatal  bruise. 

And  to  the  woman  thus  his  sentence  turned : 

Thy  sorrow  I  will  greatly  multiply 
By  thy  conception  ;  children  thou  shaft  bring 
In  sorrow  forth  ;  and  to  thy  husband’s  will 
Thine  shalt  submit,  he  over  thee  shall  rule. 


1  Because  thou  hast.— Gen.  iii.  14,  15. 


242 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Bool:  X.— 197-230 


On  Adam  last  thus  judgment  he  pronounced  : 

Because  thou  hast  hearkened  to  the  voice  of  thy  wife, 
And  eaten  of  the  tree  concerning  which 
I  charged  thee,  saying,  Thou  shalt  not  eat  thereof, 

Cursed  is  the  ground  for  thy  sake  ;  thou  in  sorrow 
Shalt  eat  thereof  all  the  days  of  thy  life ; 

Thorns,  also,  and  thistles,  it  shall  bring  thee  forth, 

Unbid,  and  thou  shall  eat  the  herb  of  the  field ; 

In  the  sweat  of  thy  face  shalt  thou  eat  bread, 

Till  thou  return  unto  the  ground ;  for  thou 
Out  of  the  earth  wast  taken,  know  thy  birth, 

For  dust  thou  art,  and  shalt  to  dust  return.1 

So  judged  he  man,  both  Judge  and  Saviour  sen 
And  the  instant  stroke  of  death,  denounced  that  day, 
Removed  far  off.  Then  pitying  how  they  stood 
Before  him,  naked  to  the  air,  that  now 
Must  suffer  change,  disdained  not  to  begin 
Thenceforth  the  form  of  servant  to  assume ; 

As  when  he  washed  his  servants’  feet ;  so  now 

As  Father  of  his  family,  he  clad 

Their  nakedness  with  skins  of  beasts,  or  slain, 

Or,  as  the  snake,  with  youthful  coat  repaid, 

And  thought  not  much  to  clothe  his  enemies. 

Nor  he  their  outward  only  with  the  skins 
Of  beasts,  hut  inward  nakedness,  much  more 
Opprobrious,  with  his  robe  of  righteousness 
Arraying,  covered  from  his  Father’s  sight. 

To  Him,  with  swift  ascent,  he  up  returned, 

Into  his  blissful  bosom  reassumed, 

In  glory,  as  of  old  ;  to  Him,  appeased, 

All,  though  all-knowing,  what  had  passed  with  Man 
Recounted,  mixing  intercession  sweet. 

Meanwhile,  ere  thus  was  sinned  and  judged  on  earth, 
Within  the  gates  of  hell  sat  Sin  and  Death, 


1  To  dust  return. — Gen.  iii.  15 — 19 


Book  X.— 231-266] 


PAKADTSE  LOST. 


243 


In  counterview  within  the  gates,  that  now 
Stood  open  wide,  belching  outrageous  flame 
Far  into  Chaos,  since  the  fiend  passed  through, 

Sin  opening ;  who  thus  now  to  Death  began : 

0  son,  why  sit  we  here,  each  other  viewing 
Idly,  while  Satan,  our  great  author,  thrives 
In  other  worlds,  and  happier  seat  provides 
For  us,  his  offspring  dear  ?  It  cannot  he 
But  that  success  attends  him  ;  if  mishap, 

Ere  this  he  had  returned,  with  fury  driven 
By  his  avengers  ;  since  no  place  like  this 
Can  fit  his  punishment,  or  their  revenge. 

Methinks  I  feel  new  strength  within  me  rise, 

Wings  growing,  and  dominion  given  me  large, 
Beyond  this  deep ;  whatever  draws  me  on, 

Or  sympathy,  or  some  connatural  force, 

Powerful  at  greatest  distance  to  unite, 

With  secret  amity,  things  of  like  kind, 

By  secretest  conveyance.  Thou,  my  shade 
Inseparable,  must  with  me  along, 

For  Death  from  Sin  no  power  can  separate. 

But  lest  the  difficulty^  of  passing  hack 
Stay  his  return,  perhaps,  over  this  gulf 
Impassable,  impervious,  let  us  try 
Adventurous  work,  yet  to  thy  power  and  mine 
Not  unagreeable,  to  found  a  path 
Over  this  main  from  Hell  to  that  new  World, 
Where  Satan  now  prevails  ;  a  monument 
Of  merit  high  to  all  the  infernal  host, 

Easing  their  passage  hence,  for  intercourse, 

Or  transmigration,  as  their  lot  shall  lead, 

Nor  can  I  miss  the  way,  so  strongly  drawn 
By  this  new-felt  attraction  and  instinct. 

Whom  thus  the  meagre  shadow  answered  soon : 
Go,  whither  fate,  and  inclination  strong, 

Lead  thee ;  I  shall  not  lag  behind,  nor  err 


244 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  X.— 267-297 


The  way,  thou  leading ;  such  a  scent  I  draw 

Of  carnage,  prey  innumerable,  and  taste 

The  savour  of  death  from  all  things  there  that  live  , 

Nor  shall  I  to  the  work  thou  enterprisest 

Be  wanting,  but  afford  the  equal  aid. 

So  saying,  with  delight  he  snuffed  the  smell 
Of  mortal  change  on  earth.  As  when  a  flock 
Of  ravenous  fowl,  though  many  a  league  remote, 

Against  the  day  of  battle,  to  a  field, 

Where  armies  lie  encamped,  come  flying,  lured 

With  scent  of  living  carcases  designed 

For  death  the  following  day,  in  bloody  fight ; 

So  scented  the  grim  feature,  and  upturned 
His  nostrils  wide  into  the  murky  air, 

Sagacious  of  his  quarry  from  so  far. 

Then  both,  from  out  Hell  gates,  into  the  waste 
Wide  anarchy  of  Chaos,  damp  and  dark, 

Flew  diverse ;  and  with  power — their  power  was  great 
Hovering  upon  the  waters,  what  they  met, 

Solid  or  slimy,  as  in  raging  sea 

Tossed  up  and  down,  together  crowded  drove, 

From  each  side  shoaling  towards  the  mouth  of  Hell  : — 

As  when  two  polar  winds,  blowing  adverse 

Upon  the  Cronian  sea,1  together  drive 

Mountains  of  ice,  that  stop  the  imagined  way 

Beyond  Petsora3  eastward,  to  the  rich 

Cathaian  coast.3  The  aggregated  soil, 

Death,  with  his  mace  petrific,  cold  and  dry, 

As  with  a  trident  smote,  and  fixed  as  firm 
As  Delos,  floating  once  ;4  the  rest  his  look 
Bound  with  Gorgonian  rigour5  not  to  move ; 


,  1  Cronian  sea. — Name  given  to  the  Polar  Seas. 

»  1 Petsora . — A  river  descending  to  the  Arctic  Sea  from  the  Ural  mountains. 

3  Cathaian  coast. — China. 

4  As  Delos ,  floating  once. — One  of  the  Cyclades  group  of  islands,  in  the  iEgean  Sea,  which  was  said  to  have  been 
a  floating  island,  until  Jupiter  chained  it  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

6  Qorgonian  rigour. — See  Book  II.,  line  611,  and  Note  3. 


Book  X.— 298-331] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


245 


And  with  asphaltic  slime,  broad  as  the  gate, 

Deep  to  the  roots  of  Hell  the  gathered  beach 
They  fastened,  and  the  mole  immense  wrought  on. 

Over  the  foaming  Deep,  high-arched,  a  bridge 
Of  length  prodigious,  joining  to  the  wall 
Immovable  of  this  now  fenceless  world, 

l 

Forfeit  to  Death ;  from  hence  a  passage  broad, 

Smooth,  easy,  inoffensive,  down  to  hell. 

So,  if  great  things  to  small  may  be  compared, 

Xerxes,  the  liberty  of  Greece  to  yoke, 

From  Susa,  his  Memnonian  palace  high, 

Came  to  the  sea,  and,  over  Hellespont 
Bridging  his  way,  Europe  with  Asia  joined, 

And  scourged  with  many  a  stroke  the  indignant  waves. 
Now  had  they  brought  the  work  by  wondrous  art 
Pontifical,  a  ridge  of  pendent  rock, 

Over  the  vexed  abyss,  following  the  track 

Of  Satan  to  the  self-same  place  where  he 

First  lighted  from  his  wing,  and  landed  safe 

From  out  of  Chaos,  to  the  outside  bare 

Of  this  round  world.  With  pins  of  adamant 

And  chains  they  made  all  fast,  too  fast  they  made 

And  durable !  And  now  in  little  space 

The  confines  met  of  empyrean  heaven 

And  of  this  world ;  and  on  the  left  hand  hell 

With  long  reach  interposed  ;  three  several  ways 

In  sight  to  each  of  these  three  places  led. 

And  now  their  way  to  earth  they  had  descried, 

To  Paradise  first  tending ;  when,  behold ! 

Satan,  in  likeness  of  an  angel  bright, 

Betwixt  the  Centaur  and  the  Scorpion1  steering 
His  zenith,  while  the  sun  in  Aries  rose, 

Disguised  he  came ;  but  those  his  children  dear 
Their  parent  soon  discerned,  though  in  disguise. 


1  Centaur,  Scorpion,  Aries.  —  Signs  in  the  Zodiac. 


246 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  X.— 332-367 


He,  after  Eve  seduced,  un minded  slunk 
Into  the  wood  fast  by ;  and  changing  shape 
To  observe  the  sequel,  saw  his  guileful  act, 

By  Eve,  though  all  unweeting,  seconded 
Upon  her  husband ;  saw  their  shame  that  sought 
Vain  covertures.  But  when  he  saw  descend 
The  Son  ot  God  to  judge  them,  terrified 
He  lied ;  not  hoping  to  escape,  hut  shun 
The  present;  fearing,  guilty,  what  His  wrath 
Might  suddenly  inflict ;  that  past,  returned 
By  night,  and  listening  where  the  hapless  pair 
Sat  in  their  sad  discourse,  and  various  plaint, 

Thence  gathered  his  own  doom  ;  which  understood 
Not  instant,  hut  of  future  time,  with  joy 
And  tidings  fraught,'  to  hell  he  now  returned, 

And  at  the  brink  of  Chaos,  near  the  foot 
Of  this  new  wondrous  pontifice,  unhoped 
Met,  who  to  meet  him  came,  his  offspring  dear. 
Great  joy  was  at  their  meeting,  and  at  sight 
Of  that  stupendous  bridge  his  joy  increased. 

Long  he  admiring  stood,  till  Sin,  his  fair 
Enchanting  daughter,  thus  the  silence  broke  : 

0  Parent,  these  are  thy  magnific  deeds, 

Thy  trophies !  which  thou  view’st  as  not  thine  own  ; 
Thou  art  their  author,  and  prime  architect ; 

Eor  I  no  sooner  in  my  heart  divined — 

My  heart,  which  by  a  secret  harmony 

Still  moves  with  thine,  joined  in  connection  sweet — 

I  hat  thou  on  earth  hadst  prospered,  which  thy  looks 
Now  also  evidence,  but  straight  I  felt, 

Though  distant  from  thee  worlds  between,  yet  felt 
That  I  must  after  thee,  with  this  thy  son  ; 

Such  fatal  consequence  unites  us  three. 

Hell  could  no  longer  hold  us  in  her  bounds, 

Nor  this  unvoyageable  gulf  obscure 
Detain  from  following  thy  illustrious  track. 


Book  X.— 368-403] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


24', 


Thou  hast  achieved  our  liberty,  confined 
Within  Hell-gates  till  now ;  thou  us  empowered 
To  fortify  thus  far,  and  overlay, 

With  this  portentous  bridge,  the  dark  abyss. 

Thine  now  is  all  this  world  ;  thy  virtue  hath  won 
What  thy  hands  builded  not ;  thy  wisdom  gained, 

With  odds,  what  war  hath  lost,  and  fully  avenged 
Our  foil  in  heaven.  Here  thou  shalt  monarch  reign, 
There  didst  not.  There  let  Him  still  victor  sway, 

As  battle  hath  adjudged ;  from  this  new  world 
Retiring,  by  his  own  doom  alienated, 

And  henceforth  monarchy  with  thee  divide 
Of  all  things,  parted  by  the  empyreal  bounds, 

His  quadrature,  from  thy  orbicular  world  ; 

Or  try  thee  now  more  dangerous  to  his  throne. 

Whom  thus  the  Prince  of  Darkness  answered  glad : 
Fair  daughter,  and  thou  son  and  grandchild  both ; 

High  proof  ye  now  have  given  to  be  the  race 
Of  Satan — for  I  glory  in  the  name, 

Antagonist  of  heaven’s  Almighty  King — 

Amply  have  merited  of  me,  of  all 

The  infernal  empire,  that  so  near  heaven’s  door 

Triumphal  with  triumphal  act  have  met, 

Mine,  with  this  glorious  work,  and  made  one  realm. 

Hell  and  this  world,  one  realm,  one  continent 
Of  easy  thoroughfare.  Therefore — while  I 
Descend  through  darkness,  on  your  road,  with  ease, 

To  my  associate  Powers,  them  to  acquaint 
With  these  successes,  and  with  them  rejoice — 

You  two  this  way,  among  these  numerous  orbs, 

All  yours,  right  down  to  Paradise  descend ; 

There  dwell,  and  reign  in  bliss :  thence  on  the  earth 
Dominion  exercise,  and  in  the  air, 

Chiefly  on  Man,  sole  lord  of  all  declared. 

Him  first  make  sure  your  thrall,  and  lastly  kill. 

My  substitutes  I  send  ye,  and  create 


248 


PARADISE  LOST. 


Book  X.— 404-437 


Plenipotent  on  earth,  of  matchless  might 
Issuing  from  me.  On  your  joint  vigour  now, 

My  hold  of  this  new  kingdom  all  depends, 

Through  Sin  to  Death  exposed  by  my  exploit. 

If  your  joint  power  prevail,  the  affairs  of  hell 
No  detriment  need  fear;  go,  and  he  strong. 

So  saying,  he  dismissed  them.  They  with  speed 
Their  course  through  thickest  constellations  held, 
Spreading  their  bane ;  the  blasted  stars  looked  wan ; 
And  planets,  planet-struck,  real  eclipse 
Then  suffered.  The  other  way  Satan  went  down 
The  causey  to  hell-gate.  On  either  side 
Disparted  Chaos  overbuilt  exclaimed,1 
And  with  rebounding  surge  the  bars  assailed, 

That  scorned  his  indignation.  Through  the  gate, 
Wide  open  and  unguarded,  Satan  passed, 

And  all  about  found  desolate ;  for  those, 

Appointed  to  sit  there,  had  left  their  charge, 

Flown  to  the  upper  world ;  the  rest  were  all 

Far  to  the  inland  retired,  about  the  walls 

Of  Pandemonium,  city  and  proud  seat 

Of  Lucifer,  so  by  allusion  called 

Of  that  bright  star  to  Satan  paragoned  :2 

There  kept  their  watch  the  legions,  while  the  grand 

In  council  sat  solicitous  what  chance 

Might  intercept  their  emperor  sent ;  so  he, 

Departing,  gave  command,  and  they  observed. 

As  when  the  Tartar,  from  his  Russian  foe, 

By  Astracan,  over  the  snowy  plains 
Retires ;  or  Bactrian  Sophi,  from  the  horns 
Of  Turkish  crescent,  leaves  all  waste  beyond 
The  realm  of  Aladule,  in  his  retreat 
To  Tauris  or  Casbeen  :  so  these,  the  late 
Heaven-banished  host,  left  desert  utmost  hell 


1  Exclaimed \ — “  Deep  ealliDg  unto  deep.”  (Ps.  xlii.  7.) 


"Paragoned. — Compared,  equalled. 


And  now  expecting 
Each  hour  their  great  adventurer  from  the  search 
Of  foreign  worlds. 


Book  X.t  lines  439 — 441 


Book  X.— 438-471] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


249 


Many  a  dark  league,  reduced  in  careful  watch1 

Round  their  metropolis,  and  now  expecting 

Each  hour  their  great  adventurer,  from  the  search 

Of  foreign  worlds.  He  through  the  midst,  unmarked, 

In  show  plebeian  angel  militant 

Of  lowest  order,  passed ;  and  from  the  door 

Of  that  Plutonian  hall,  invisible 

Ascended  his  high  throne,  which,  under  state 

Of  richest  texture  spread,  at  the  upper  end 

Was  placed  in  regal  lustre.  Down  a  while 

He  sat,  and  round  about  him  saw,  unseen. 

At  last,  as  from  a  cloud,  his  fulgent  head 
And  shape  star-bright  appeared,  or  brighter,  clad 
With  what  permissive  glory  since  his  fall 
Was  left  him,  or  false  glitter.  All  amazed 
At  that  so  sudden  blaze,  the  Stygian  throng 
Bent  their  aspect,  and  whom  they  wished  beheld, 

Their  mighty  chief  returned.  Loud  was  the  acclaim  ; 
Eorth  rushed  in  haste  the  great  consulting  peers, 
Raised  from  their  dark  divan,  and  with  like  joy 
Congratulant  approached  him,  who  with  hand 
Silence,  and  with  these  words,  attention  won  : 

Thrones,  Dominations,  Princedoms,  Virtues,  Powers  ! 
Por  in  possession  such,  not  only  of  right, 

I  call  ye,  and  declare  ye  now,  returned 
Successful  beyond  hope,  to  lead  ye  forth 
Triumphant  out  of  this  infernal  pit, 

Abominable,  accursed,  the  house  of  woe, 

And  dungeon  of  our  tyrant — now  possess, 

As  lords,  a  spacious  world,  to  our  native  heaven 
Little  inferior,  by  my  adventure  hard, 

With  peril  great,  achieved.  Long  were  to  tell 
What  I  have  done,  what  suffered  ;  with  what  pain 
Voyaged  .the  unreal,  vast,  unbounded  Deep 


1  Reduced,  in  careful  watch. — Contracted,  drawn  in. 


250 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  X.-4T2-507 


Of  horrible  confusion  ;  over  which, 

By  Sin  and  Death,  a  broad  way  now  is  paved, 

To  expedite  your  glorious  march ;  but  I 
Toiled  out  my  uncouth  passage,  forced  to  ride 
The  untractable  Abyss,  plunged  in  the  womb 
Of  unoriginal  Night  and  Chaos  wild, 

That,  jealous  of  their  secrets,  fiercely  opposed 
My  journey  strange,  with  clamorous  uproar 
Protesting  fate  supreme  ;  thence,  how  I  found 
The  new-created  world,  which  fame  in  heaven 
Lons;  had  foretold ;  a  fabric  wonderful, 

Of  absolute  perfection  ;  therein  man, 

<  Placed  in  a  Paradise,  by  our  exile 
Made  happy.  Him  by  fraud  I  have  seduced 
From  his  Creator;  and,  the  more  to  increase 
Your  wonder,  wfith  an  apple.  He,  thereat 
Offended — worth  your  laughter — hath  given  up 
Both  his  beloved  Man  and  all  this  world, 

To  Sin  and  Death  a  prey,  and  so  to  us, 

Without  our  hazard,  labour,  or  alarm, 

To  range  in,  and  to  dwell,  and  over  man 
To  rule  as  over  all  He  should  have  ruled. 

True  is,  me  also  he  hath  judged,  or  rather 
Me  not,  but  the  brute  serpent,  in  whose  shape 
Man  I  deceived.  That  which  to  me  belongs 
Is  enmity,  which  he  will  put  between 
Me  and  mankind.  I  am  to  bruise  his  heel ; 

His  seed,  when  is  not  set,  shall  bruise  my  head. 

A  world  who  would  not  purchase  with  a  bruise, 

Or  much  more  grievous  pain?  Ye  have  the  account 
Of  my  performance.  What  remains,  ye  gods, 

But  up,  and  enter  now  into  full  bliss  ? 

So  having  said,  awhile  he  stood,  expecting 
Their  universal  shout,  and  high  applause 
To  fill  his  ear,  when,  contrary,  he  hears, 

On  all  sides,  from  innumerable  tongues, 


44  Dreadful  was  the  din 

Of  hissing  through  the  hall,  thick-swarming  now 
With  complicated  monsters,  head  and  tail. 

BookX.,  lines  521 — 523. 


Book  X.— 508-540] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


251 


A  dismal  universal  hiss,  the  sound 
Of  public  scorn.  He  wondered,  hut  not  long 
Had  leisure,  wondering  at  himself  now  more. 

His  visage  drawn  he  felt  to  sharp  and  spare, 

His  arms  clung  to  his  ribs,  his  legs  entwining 
Each  other,  till,  supplanted,  down  he  fell 
A  monstrous  serpent,  on  his  belly  prone, 

Reluctant,  but  in  vain  -,1  a  greater  Power 
Now  ruled  him,  punished  in  the  shape  he  sinned, 
According  to  his  doom.  He  would  have  spoke. 
But  hiss  for  hiss  returned  with  forked  tongue 
To  forked  tongue.  For  now  were  all  transformed 
Alike,  to  serpents  all,  as  accessories 
To  his  hold  riot.  Dreadful  was  the  din 
Of  hissing  through  the  hall,  thick-swarming  now 
With  complicated  monsters,2  head  and  tail, 
Scorpion,  and  Asp,  and  Ampliisbsena  dire, 

Cerastes  horned,  Hydrus,  and  Ellops  drear, 

And  Dipsas — not  so  thick  swarmed  once  the  soil 
Bedropt  with  blood  of  Gorgon,  or  the  isle 
Ophiusa — hut  still  greatest  he  the  midst, 

Now  Dragon  grown,  larger  than  whom  the  sun 
Ingendered  in  the  Pythian  vale  on  slime, 

Huge  Python,3  and  his  power  no  less  he  seemed 
Above  the  rest  still  to  retain.  They  all 
Him  followed,  issuing  forth  to  the  open  field, 
Where  all  yet  left  of  that  revolted  rout, 
Heaven-fallen,  in  station  stood,  or  just  array, 
Sublime  with  expectation  when  to  see 
In  triumph  issuing  forth  their  glorious  chief. 

They  saw,  but  other  sight  instead — a  crowd 
Of  ugly  serpents  !  Horror  on  them  fell, 

And  horrid  sympathy — for,  what  they  saw, 


*  Heluctant ,  hut  in  vain. — Unwilling  to  move  on  the  belly  prone,  but  forced  to  do  so. 

3  Complicated  monsters. — The  “  scorpion  ”  mentioned,  among  these  “  monsters  ”  was  not  a  serpent  ;  the  remaindci 
are  mentioned  by  Lucan,  Pliny,  and  other  ancient  writers. 

3  Huge  Python. — The  great  serpent  said  to  have  come  from  the  slime  left  by  the  deluge  in  the  time  of  Deucalion. 


252 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  X.— 541 


They  felt  themselves  now  changing.  Down  their  arms, 

Down  fell  both  spear  and  shield ;  down  they  as  fast, 

And  the  dire  hiss  renewed,  and  the  dire  form 
Catched,  by  contagion,  like  in  punishment, 

As  in  their  crime.  Thus  the  applause  they  meant, 

Turned  to  exploding  hiss,  triumph  to  shame, 

Cast  on  themselves  from  their  own  mouths.  There  stood 
A  grove  hard  by,  sprung  up  with  this  their  change, 

His  will  who  reigns  above,  to  aggravate 

Their  penance,  laden  with  fair  fruit,  like  that 

Which  grew  in  Paradise,  the  bait  of  Eve 

Used  by  the  tempter.  On  that  prospect  strange 

Their  earnest  eyes  they  fixed,  imagining 

For  one  forbidden  tree  a  multitude 

Now  risen,  to  work  them  further  woe  or  shame. 

Yet,  parched  with  scalding  thirst  and  hunger  fierce, 

Though  to  delude  them  sent,  could  not  abstain  ; 

But  on  they  rolled  in  heaps,  and  up  the  trees 
Climbing,  sat  thicker  than  the  snaky  locks 
That  curled  Megsera.1  Greedily  they  plucked 
The  fruitage  fair  to  sight,  like  that  which  grew 
Near  that  bituminous  lake  where  Sodom  flamed; 

This  more  delusive,  not  the  touch,  but  taste 
Deceived.  They,  fondly  thinking  to  allay 
Their  appetite  with  gust,  instead  of  fruit 
Chewed  bitter  ashes,  which  the  offended  taste 
With  spattering  noise  rejected.  Oft  they  assayed, 

Hunger  and  thirst  constraining ;  drugged  as  oft, 

With  hatefulest  disrelish  writhed  their  jaws, 

With  soot  and  cinders  filled;  so  oft  they  fell 
Into  the  same  illusion,  not  as  Man 

Whom  they  triumphed  once  lapsed.  Thus  they  were  plagued 
And  worn  with  famine,  long  and  ceaseless  hiss, 

Till  their  lost  shape,  permitted,  they  resumed, 


; Snaky  locks  that  curled  Megaera. — A  name  given  to  the  avenging  deities — the  Panes. 


Book  X.— 575-607] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


‘  253 


Yearly  enjoined,  some  say,  to  undergo 

This  annual  humbling,  certain  numbered  days, 

To  dash  their  pride,  and  joy  for  man  seduced. 

However,  some  tradition  they  dispersed 
Among  the  heathen,  of  their  purchase  got, 

And  fabled  how  the  serpent,  whom  they  called 
Ophion,1  with  Eurynome,  the  wide- 
Encroaching  Eve,  perhaps,  had  first  the  rule 
Of  high  Olympus,  thence  by  Saturn  driven 
And  Ops,  ere  yet  Dicteean  Jove  was  born. 

Meanwhile  in  Paradise  the  hellish  pair 
Too  soon  arrived ;  Sin,  there  in  power  before, 

Once  actual ;  now  in  body,  and  to  dwell 
Habitual  habitant ;  behind  her,  Death, 

Close  following  pace  for  pace,  not  mounted  yet 
On  his  pale  horse :  to  whom  Sin  thus  began  : 

Second  of  Satan  sprung,  all-conquering  Death  ! 
What  thinkest  thou  of  our  empire  now,  though  earned 
With  travail  difficult  ?  Not  better  far 
Than  still  at  Hell’s  dark  threshold  to  have  sat  watch. 
Unnamed,  undreaded,  and  thyself  half-starved? 

Whom  thus  the  sin-born  monster  answered  soon : 
To  me,  who  with  eternal  famine  pine, 

Alike  is  Hell,  or  Paradise,  or  Heaven  ; 

There  best,  where  most  with  ravine  I  may  meet, 
Which  here,  though  plenteous,  all  too  little  seems 
To  stuff  this  maw,  this  vast  un-hide-bound2 3  corpse. 

To  whom  the  incestuous  mother  thus  replied  : 

Thou,  therefore,  on  these  herbs,  and  fruits,  and  flowers, 
Feed  first ;  on  each  beast  next,  and  fish,  and  fowl, 

No  homely  morsels  ;  and  whatever  thing 

The  scythe  of  Time  mows  down,  devour  unspared, 

Till  I,  in  man  residing,  through  the  race, 


1  Ophion  in  Greek  signifies  a  serpent,  and  Milton  supposes  the  old  Serpent  may  have  been  worshipped  under  that 

name.  The  reference  to  Eurynome  and  Eve  is  obscure,  but  it  points,  beyond  doubt,  to  the  element  of  ambition  ip 
Eve’s  fall. 

3  Un -hid e-bound. — A  body  hanging  loose,  wanting  filling  up. 


254 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  X.— 608-643 


His  thoughts,  his  looks,  words,  actions,  all  infect, 

And  season  him  thy  last  and  sweetest  prey. 

This  said,  they  both  betook  them  several  ways, 

Both  to  destroy,  or  nnimmortal  make 
All  kinds,  and  for  destruction  to  mature 
Sooner  or  later ;  which  the  Almighty  seeing, 

From  his  transcendent  seat  the  saints  among, 

To  those  bright  Orders  uttered  thus  his  voice  : 

See  with  what  heat  these  dogs  of  hell  advance 
To  waste  and  havoc  yonder  world,  which  I 
So  fair  and  good  created,  and  had  still 
Kept  in  that  state,  had  not  the  folly  of  man 
Let  in  these  wasteful  furies,  who  impute 
Folly  to  me;  so  doth  the  Prince  of  hell 
And  his  adherents,  that  with  so  much  ease 
I  suffer  them  to  enter  and  possess 
A  place  so  heavenly ;  and,  conniving,  seem 
To  gratify  my  scornful  enemies, 

That  laugh,  as  if,  transported  with  some  fit 
Of  passion,  I  to  them  had  quitted  all, 

At  random  yielded  up  to  their  misrule ; 

And  know  not  that  I  called,  and  drew  them  thither, 

My  hell-hounds,  to  lick  up  the  draff  and  filth 
Which  man’s  polluting  sin  with  taint  hath  shed 
On  what  was  pure  ;  till,  crammed  and  gorged,  nigh  hurst 
With  sucked  and  glutted  offal,  at  one  sling 
Of  thy  victorious  arm,  well-pleasing  Son, 

Both  Sin  and  Death,  and  yawning  grave,  at  last, 

Through  Chaos  hurled,  obstruct  the  mouth  of  hell 
For  ever,  and  seal  up  his  ravenous  jaws. 

Then  Heaven  and  Earth,  renewed,  shall  he  made  pure 
To  sanctity,  that  shall  receive  no  stain : 

Till  then,  the  curse  pronounced  on  both  precedes. 

He  ended,  and  the  heavenly  audience  loud 
Sung  hallelujah,  as  the  sound  of  seas, 

Through  multitude  that  sung :  Just  are  thy  ways, 


Book  X.— 644-676] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


255 


Righteous  are  thy  decrees  on  all  thy  works  ; 

Who  can  extenuate  Thee?  Next,  to  the  Son, 

Destined  Restorer  of  mankind,  by  whom 
New  heaven  and  earth  shall  to  the  ages  rise, 

Or  down  from  heaven  descend.  Such  was  their  song, 
While  the  Creator,  calling  forth  by  name 
His  mighty  Angels,  gave  them  several  charge, 

As  sorted  best  with  present  things.  The  sun 
Had  first  his  precept  so  to  move,  so  shine, 

As  might  affect  the  earth  with  cold  and  heat 
Scarce  tolerable,  and  from  the  north  to  call 
Decrepit  winter  ;  from  the  south  to  bring 
Solstitial  summer’s  heat.  To  the  blank  moon 
Her  office  they  prescribed  ;  to  the  other  five 
Their  planetary  motions,  and  aspects, 

In  sextile,  square,  and  trine,  and  opposite, 

Of  noxious  efficacy,  and  when  to  join 

In  synod  unbenign  ;*  and  taught  the  fixed  • 

Their  influence  malignant  when  to  shower, 

Which  of  them  rising  with  the  sun,  or  falling, 

Should  prove  tempestuous ;  to  the  winds  they  set 
Their  corners,  when  with  bluster  to  confound 
Sea,  air,  and  shore  ;  the  thunder  when  to  roll 
With  terror  through  the  dark  aerial  hall. 

Some  say,  He  bid  his  Angels  turn  askance 
The  poles  of  earth,  twice  ten  degrees  and  more, 

From  the  sun’s  axle ;  they  with  labour  pushed 
Oblique  the  centric  globe.  Some  say,  the  sun 
Was  bid  turn  reins  from  the  equinoctial  road 
Like  distant  breadth  to  Taurus2  with  the  seven 
Atlantic  Sisters,  and  the  Spartan  Twins, 

Up  to  the  tropic  Crab ;  thence  down  amain 
By  Leo,  and  the  Virgin,  and  the  Scales, 


1  In  synod  unbenign. — One  of  Milton’s  faults,  even  in  the  judgment  of  friendly  critics,  is  a  somewhat  ostentatious 
display  of  learning.  In  the  text  the  reader  is  favoured  with  something  from  the  lore  of  astrology,  in  which  the  poet 
would  seem  to  have  been  in  some  sense  a  believer. 

2  To  Taurus ,  &c. — This  passage  describes  the  supposed  relation  of  the  Earth  to  the  signs  of  the  Zodiac  through 
the  changes  of  seasons. 


256 


PARADISE  LOST, 


Book  X.— 677-707 


As  deep  as  Capricorn,  to  bring  in  change 
Of  seasons  to  each  clime.  Else  had  the  spring 
Perpetual  smiled  on  earth  with  vernant  flowers, 

Equal  in  days  and  nights,  except  to  those 
Beyond  the  polar  circles ;  to  them  day 
Had  unbenighted  shone,  while  the  1owt  sun, 

To  recompense  his  distance,  in  their  sight 
Had  rounded  still  the  horizon,  and  not  known 
Or  east  or  west,  which  had  forbid  the  snow 
From  cold  Estotiland,1  and  south  as  far 
Beneath  Magellan.2  At  that  tasted  fruit, 

The  sun,  as  from  Thyestean3  banquet,  turned 
His  course  intended ;  else,  how  had  the  world 
Inhabited,  though  sinless,  more  than  now, 

Avoided  pinching  cold  and  scorching  heat? 

These  changes  in  the  heavens,  though  slow,  produced 
Like  change  on  sea  and  land ;  sidereal  blast, 

Vapour,  and  mist,  and  exhalation  hot, 

Corrupt  and  pestilent  :  now,  from  the  north 
Of  Norumbega,  and  the  Samoed4  shore, 

Bursting  their  brazen  dungeon,  armed  with  ice, 

And  snow,  and  hail,  and  stormy  gust  and  flaw, 
Boreas,  and  Ceecias,5  and  Argestes  loud, 

And  Thrascias,  rend  the  woods,  and  seas  upturn  ; 
With  adverse  blasts  upturns  them  from  the  south 
Notus,  and  Afer,  black  with  thunderous  clouds 
From  Sierra  Fiona ;  thwart  of  these,  as  fierce, 

Forth  rushed  the  Levant  and  the  Ponent  winds 
Eurus  and  Zephyr,  with  their  lateral  noise, 

Sirocco  and  Libeccliio.  Thus  began 

Outrage  from  lifeless  things ;  but  Discord  first, 


1  Estotiland. — Greenland. 

1  Magellan. — The  straits  of  Magellan. 

8  Thyestean. — A  reference  to  the  story  which  describes  Atreus  as  giving  to  his  brother  Thyestes  the  flesh  of  his 
sons  as  food.  From  the  sight  of  a  father  feeding  upon  his  own  children  the  sun  is  said  to  have  turned  away. 

4  Norurnbega. — In  northern  America.  Samoed. — In  the  north  east  of  Muscovy. 

6  Boreas ,  and  Gteeias,  &e. — The  names  which  follow  are  names  of  winds,  or  of  places  where  winds  of  an  unUsual 
sort  prevail. 


Poor  X.— 708-743J 


PARADISE  LOST. 


257 


Daughter  of  Sin,  among  the  irrational 
Death  introduced,  through  fierce  antipathy. 

Beast  now  with  beast  ’gan  war,  and  fowl  with  fowl, 
And  fish  with  fish  :  to  graze  the  herb  all  leaving, 
Devoured  each  other ;  nor  stood  much  in  awe 
Of  man,  hut  fled  him,  or,  with  countenance  grim, 
Glared  on  him  passing.  These  were,  from  without, 
The  growing  miseries  which  Adam  saw 
Already  in  part,  though  hid  in  gloomiest  shade, 

To  sorrow  abandoned,  but  worse  felt  within ; 

And  in  a  troubled  sea  of  passion  tost, 

Thus  to  disburden  sought  with  sad  complaint : 

Oh  miserable  of  happy !  Is  this  the  end 
Of  this  new  glorious  world,  and  me  so  late 
The  glory  of  that  glory  ?  who  now,  become 
Accursed  of  blessed,  hide  me  from  the  face 
Of  God,  whom  to  behold  was  then  my  height 
Of  happiness  !  Yet  well,  if  here  would  end 
The  misery ;  I  deserved  it,  and  would  bear 
My  own  deservings.  But  this  will  not  serve ; 

All  that  I  eat  or  drink,  or  shall  beget, 

Is  propagated  curse.  Oh  voice,  once  heard 
Delightfully — Increase  and  multiply  ; 

Now  death  to  hear !  for  what  can  I  increase, 

Or  multiply,  but  curses  on  my  head  ? 

Who  of  all  ages  to  succeed,  but,  feeling 
The  evil  on  him  brought  by  me,  will  curse 
My  head?  Ill  fare  our  ancestor  impure! 

For  this  we  may  thank  Adam  !  but  his  thanks 
Shall  be  the  execration.  So,  besides 
Mine  own  that  bide  upon  me,  all  from  me 
Shall  with  a  fierce  reflux  on  me  redound ; 

On  me,  as  on  their  natural  centre,  light 
Heavy,  though  in  their  place.  Oh  fleeting  joys 
Of  Paradise,  dear  bought  with  lasting  woes  ! 

Did  I  request  thee,  Maker,  from  my  clay 


258 


PARADISE  DOST. 


[Book  X.- 744-779 


To  mould  me  man?  Did  I  solicit  thee 
From  darkness  to  promote  me,  or  here  place 
In  this  delicious  garden  ?  As  my  will 
Concurred  not  to  my  being,  it  were  but  right 
And  equal  to  reduce  me  to  my  dust  ; 

Desirous  to  resign,  and  render  back, 

All  I  received ;  unable  to  perform 

Thy  terms  too  hard,  by  which  I  was  to  hold 

The  (rood  I  sought  not.  To  the  loss  of  that, 

cj  O  ' 

Sufficient  penalty,  why  hast  thou  added 
The  sense  of  endless  wroes?  Inexplicable 
Thy  justice  seems.  Yet,  to  say  truth,  too  late 
I  thus  contest ;  then  should  have  been  refused 
Those  terms,  whatever,  when  they  were  proposed. 
Thou  didst  accept  them  :  wilt  thou  enjoy  the  good, 
Then  cavil  the  conditions?  and,  though  God 
Made  thee  without  thy  leave,  what  if  thy  son 
Prove  disobedient ;  and,  reproved,  retort, 

Wherefore  didst  thou  beget  me  ?  I  sought  it  not. 
Wouldst  thou  admit  for  his  contempt  of  thee 
That  proud  excuse  ?  Yet  him,  not  thy  election, 

By  natural  necessity,  begot. 

God  made  thee  of  choice  his  own,  and  of  h:s  own 
To  serve  him  ;  thy  reward  was  of  his  grace  ; 

Thy  punishment,  then,  justly  is  at  his  will. 

Be  it  so,  for  I  submit ;  his  doom  is  fair, 

That  dust  I  am,  and  shall  to  dust  return. 

Oh,  welcome  hour  whenever  !  Why  delays 
Ilis  hand  to  execute  what  his  decree 
Fixed  on  this  day?  Why  do  I  overlive? 

Why  am  I  mocked  with  death,  and  lengthened  out 
To  deathless  pain?  How  gladly  would  I  meet 
Mortality,  my  sentence,  and  he  earth 
Insensible !  How  glad  would  lay  me  down, 

As  in  my  mother’s  lap  !  There  I  should  rest, 

And  sleep  secure  ;  his  dreadful  voice  no  more 


Book  X.— 780  815] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


259 


Would  thunder  in  my  ears ;  no  fear  of  worse 
To  me,  and  to  my  offspring,  would  torment  me 
With  cruel  expectation.  Yet  one  doubt 
Pursues  me  still,  lest  all  I  cannot  die ; 

Lest  that  pure  breath  of  life — the  spirit  of  Man 
Which  God  inspired,  cannot  together  perish 
WTith  this  corporeal  clod ;  then,  in  the  grave. 

Or  in  some  other  dismal  place,  who  knows 
But  I  shall  die  a  living  death?  Oh  thought 
Horrid,  if  true  !  Yet  why  ?  It  was  but  breath 
Of  life  that  sinned.  What  dies  but  what  had  life 
And  sin?  The  body  properly  hath  neither. 

All  of  me,  then,  shall  die :  let  this  appease 
The  doubt,  since  human  reach  no  farther  knows  • 
For  though  the  Lord  of  all  be  infinite, 

Is  his  wrath  also  ?  Be  it,  man  is  not  so, 

But  mortal  doomed.  How  can  he  exercise 

Wrath  without  end  on  man,  whom  death  must  end? 

Can  he  make  deathless  death  ?  That  were  to  make 

Strange  contradiction,  which  to  God  himself 

Impossible  is  held,  as  argument 

Of  weakness,  not  of  power.  Will  he  draw  out, 

For  anger’s  sake,  finite  to  infinite 
In  punished  man,  to  satisfy  his  rigour, 

Satisfied  never  ?  That  were  to  extend 
His  sentence  beyond  dust  and  nature’s  law, 

By  which  all  causes  else,  according  still 
To  the  reception  of  their  matter,  act, 

Not  to  the  extent  of  their  own  sphere.  But  say 
That  death  be  not  one  stroke,  as  I  supposed, 
Bereaving  sense,  but  endless  misery 
From  this  day  onward — which  I  feel  begun 
Both  in  me,  and  without  me — and  so  last 
To  perpetuity  :  ah,  me  !  that  fear 
Comes  thundering  back  with  dreadful  revolution 
On  my  defenceless  head.  Both  death  and  I 


260 


PAR  A  DISK  LOST. 


[Book  X.— 810-851 


Are  found  eternal,  and  incorporates  both  ; 

Nor  I  on  my  part  single  ;  in  me  all 
Posterity  stands  cursed — fair  patrimony 
That  I  must  leave  ye,  sons !  Oh,  were  I  able 
To  waste  it  all  myself,  and  leave  ye  none ! 

Ho  disinherited,  how  would  ye  bless 

Me,  now  your  curse  !  Ah,  why  should  all  mankind, 

For  one  man’s  fault,  thus  guiltless  be  condemned, 

If  guiltless  ?  But  from  me  what  can  proceed 
But  all  corrupt ;  both  mind  and  will  depraved, 

Not  to  do  only,  but  to  will  the  same 

With  me?  How  can  they,  then,  acquitted  stand 

In  sight  of  God?  Him,  after  all  disputes, 

Forced  I  absolve  :  all  my  evasions  vain, 

And  reasonings,  though  through  mazes,  lead  me  still 
But  to  my  own  conviction  :  first  and  last 
On  me — me  only,  as  the  source  and  spring 
Of  all  corruption,  all  the  blame  lights  due  ; 

So  might  the  wrath  !  Fond  wish !  couldst  thou  support 
That  burden,  heavier  than  the  earth  to  bear — 

Than  all  the  world  much  heavier,  though  divided 
With  that  bad  woman?  Thus,  what  thou  desirest, 

And  what  thou  fearest,  alike  destroys  all  hope 
Of  refuge,  and  concludes  thee  miserable 
Beyond  all  past  example  and  future ; 

To  Satan  only  like,  both  crime  and  doom. 

0  conscience !  Into  what  abyss  of  fears 

And  horrors  hast  thou  driven  me ;  out  of  which 

I  find  no  way,  from  deep  to  deeper  plunged  ! 

Th  us  Adam  to  himself  lamented  loud, 

Through  the  still  night ;  not  now,  as  ere  man  fell, 
Wholesome,  and  cool,  and  mild,  but  with  black  air 
Accompanied ;  with  damps  and  dreadful  gloom, 

Which  to  his  evil  conscience  represented 
All  things  with  double  terror,  on  the  ground 
Outstretched  he  lay,  on  the  cold  ground,  and  oft 


Book  X.— 852-887] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


261 


Cursed  his  creation ;  Death  as  oft  accused 

Of  tardy  execution,  since  denounced 

The  day  of  his  offence.  Why  comes  not  Death, 

Said  he,  with  one  thrice-acceptable  stroke 
To  end  me  ?  Shall  truth  fail  to  keep  her  word, 
Justice  divine  not  hasten  to  be  just? 

But  Death  comes  not  at  call  ;  justice  divine 
Mends  not  her  slowest  pace  for  prayers  or  cries. 

0  woods,  0  fountains,  hillocks,  dales,  and  bowers  ! 
With  other  echo  late  I  taught  your  shades 
To  answer,  and  resound  far  other  song. 

Whom  thus  afflicted,  when  sad  Eve  beheld, 

Desolate  where  she  sat,  approaching  nigh, 

Soft  words  to  his  fierce  passion  she  assayed ; 

But  her,  with  stern  regard,  he  thus  repelled  : 

Out  of  my  sight,  thou  serpent !  That  name  best 
Befits  thee,  with  him  leagued,  thyself  as  false 
And  hateful.  Nothing  wants,  but  that  thy  shape, 

Like  his,  and  colour  serpentine,  may  show 
Thy  inward  fraud,  to  warn  all  creatures  from  thee 
Henceforth,  lest  that  too  heavenly  form,  pretended 
To  hellish  falsehood,  snare  them  !  But  for  thee 
I  had  persisted  happy,  had  not  thy  pride 
And  wandering  vanity,  when  least  was  safe, 

Rejected  my  forewarning,  and  disdained 
Not  to  be  trusted ;  longing  to  be  seen, 

Though  by  the  Devil  himself,  him  overweening 
To  over-reach  ;  but,  with  the  serpent  meeting, 

Fooled  and  beguiled ;  by  him  thou,  I  by  thee. 

To  trust  thee  from  my  side,  imagined  wise, 

Constant,  mature,  proof  against  all  assaults ; 

And  understood  not  all  was  but  a  show, 

Rather  than  solid  virtue  ;  all  but  a  rib 
Crooked  by  nature,  bent,  as  now  appears, 

More  to  the  part  sinister,  from  me  drawn ; 

Well  if  thrown  out,  as  supernumerary 


262 


PARADISE  LOST. 


Book  X.— 888-923 


To  my  just  number  found.  Ob  !  why  did  God, 
Creator  wise,  that  peopled  highest  heaven 
With  spirits  masculine,  create  at  last 
This  novelty  on  Earth,  this  fair  defect 
Of  nature,  and  not  fill  the  world  at  once 
With  men,  as  angels,  without  feminine  ; 

Or  find  some  other  way  to  generate 
Mankind?  This  mischief  had  not  then  befallen, 

And  more  that  shall  befall  ;  innumerable 
Disturbances  on  earth  through  female  snares, 

And  straight  conjunction  with  this  sex  :  for  either 
He  never  shall  find  out  fit  mate,  but  such 
As  some  misfortune  brings  him,  or  mistake  ; 

Or  whom  he  wishes  most  shall  seldom  gain, 

Through  her  perverseness,  but  shall  see  her  gained 
By  a  far  worse ;  or,  if  she  love,  withheld 
By  parents ;  or  his  happiest  choice  too  late 
Shall  meet,  already  linked  and  wedlock-bound 
To  a  fell  adversary,  his  hate  or  shame  ; 

Which  infinite  calamity  shall  cause 
To  human  life,  and  household  peace  confound. 

He  added  not,  and  from  her  turned.  But  Eve, 
Not  so  repulsed,  with  tears  that  ceased  not  flowing, 
And  tresses  all  disordered,  at  his  feet 
Fell  humble;  and,  embracing  them,  besought 
His  peace,  and  thus  proceeded  in  her  plaint : 

Forsake  me  not  thus,  Adam  !  witness,  Heaven, 
What  love  sincere,  and  reverence  in  my  heart, 

I  bear  thee,  and  unweeting  have  offended, 

Unhappily  deceived  !  Thy  suppliant, 

I  beg,  and  clasp  thy  knees  ;  bereave  me  not, 
Whereon  I  live,  thy  gentle  looks,  thy  aid, 

Thy  counsel,  in  this  uttermost  distress 
My  only  strength  and  stay  ;  forlorn  of  thee, 

Whither  shall  I  betake  me,  where  subsist? 

While  yet  we  live,  scarce  one  short  hour  perhaps, 


Book  X.— 924-959] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


263 


Between  us  two  let  there  be  peace ;  both  joining, 

As  joined  in  injuries,  one  enmity 

Against  a  foe  by  doom  express  assigned  us, 

That  cruel  serpent.  On  me  exercise  not 
Thy  hatred  for  this  misery  befallen ; 

On  me,  already  lost,  me  than  thyself 

More  miserable.  Both  have  sinned  ;  but  thou 

Against  God  only,  I  against  God  and  thee ; 

And  to  the  place  of  judgment  will  return, 

There  with  my  cries  importune  Heaven,  that  all 
The  sentence,  from  thy  head  removed,  may  light 
On  me,  sole  cause  to  thee  of  all  this  woe ; 

Me — me  only,  just  object  of  His  ire  ! 

She  ended,  weeping ;  and  her  lowly  plight, 
Immovable  till  peace  obtained  from  fault 
Acknowledged  and  deplored,  in  Adam  wrought 
Commiseration.  Soon  his  heart  relented, 

Towards  her,  his  life  so  late,  and  sole  delight, 

Now  at  his  feet  submissive  in  distress; 

Creature  so  fair  his  reconcilement  seeking, 

His  counsel,  whom  she  had  displeased,  his  aid. 

As  one  disarmed,  his  anger  all  he  lost, 

And  thus  with  peaceful  words  upraised  her  soon  : 

Unwary,  and  too  desirous,  as  before, 

So  now,  of  what  thou  knowest  not,  who  desirest 
The  punishment  all  on  thyself ;  alas  ! 

Bear  thine  own  first,  ill  able  to  sustain 

His  full  wrath,  whose  thou  feelest  as  yet  least  part. 

And  my  displeasure  bearest  so  ill.  If  prayers 

Could  alter  high  decrees,  I  to  that  place 

Would  speed  before  thee,  and  be  louder  heard, 

That  on  my  head  all  might  be  visited ; 

Thy  frailty  and  infirmer  sex  forgiven  ; 

To  me  committed,  and  by  me  exposed. 

But  rise :  let  us  no  more  contend,  nor  blame 
Each  other,  blamed  enough  elsewhere ;  but  strive. 


264 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  X.— 960-995 


In  offices  of  love,  how  we  may  lighten 
Each  other’s  burden,  in  our  share  of  woe, 

Since  this  day’s  death  denounced,  if  aught  I  see, 
Will  prove  no  sudden,  but  a  slow-paced  evil — 

A  long  day’s  dying  to  augment  our  pain, 

And  to  our  seed  (0  hapless  seed !)  derived. 

To  whom  thus  Eve,  recovering  heart,  replied  : — - 
Adam,  by  sad  experiment  I  know 
How  little  weight  my  words  with  thee  can  find, 
Found  so  erroneous,  thence  by  just  event 
Found  so  unfortunate  :  nevertheless, 

Restored  by  thee,  vile  as  I  am,  to  place 

Of  new  acceptance,  hopeful  to  regain 

Thy  love,  the  sole  contentment  of  my  heart, 

Living  or  dying,  from  thee  I  will  not  hide 
What  thoughts  in  my  unquiet  breast  are  risen, 
Tending  to  some  relief  of  our  extremes, 

Or  end ;  though  sharp  and  sad,  yet  tolerable. 

As  in  our  evils,  and  of  easier  choice. 

If  care  of  our  descent  perplex  us  most, 

Which  must  be  born  to  certain  woe,  devoured 
By  death  at  last — and  miserable  it  is 
To  be  to  others  cause  of  misery, 

Our  own  begotten,  and  of  our  loins  to  bring 
Into  this  cursed  world  a  woeful  race, 

That,  after  wretched  life,  must  be  at  last 
Food  for  so  foul  a  monster — in  thy  power 
It  lies  yet,  ere  conception,  to  prevent 
The  race  unblest,  to  being  yet  unbegot. 

Childless  thou  art,  childless  remain  ;  so  Death 
Shall  be  deceived  his  glut,  and  with  us  two 
Be  forced  to  satisfy  his  ravenous  maw. 

But  if  thou  judge  it  hard  and  difficult, 

Conversing,  looking,  loving,  to  abstain 

From  love’s  due  rights,  nuptial  embraces  sweet, 

And,  with  desire,  to  languish  without  hope, 


Book  X.— 996-1031] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


265 


Before  the  present  object  languishing 

With  like  desire,  which  would  be  misery 

And  torment  less  than  none  of  what  we  dread, 

Then,  both  ourselves  and  seed  at  once  to  free 
From  what  we  fear  for  both,  let  us  make  short, 

Let  us  seek  Death ;  or,  he  not  found,  supply 
With  our  own  hands  his  office  on  ourselves. 

Why  stand  we  longer  shivering  under  fears 
That  show  no  end  but  Death ;  and  have  the  power, 
Of  many  ways  to  die,  the  shortest  choosing, 
Destruction  with  destruction  to  destroy  ? 

She  ended  here,  or  vehement  despair 
Broke  off  the  rest ;  so  much  of  Death  her  thoughts 
Had  entertained,  as  dyed  her  cheeks  with  pale. 

But  Adam,  with  such  counsel  nothing  swayed, 

To  better  hopes  his  more  attentive  mind 
Labouring  had  raised  ;  and  thus  to  Eve  replied  : 

Eve,  thy  contempt  of  life  and  pleasure  seems 
To  argue  in  thee  something  more  sublime 
And  excellent  than  what  thy  mind  contemns  ; 

But  self-destruction  therefore  sought,  refutes 
That  excellence  thought  in  thee ;  and  implies, 

Not  thy  contempt,  but  anguish  and  regret 
For  loss  of  life  and  pleasure  overloved. 

Or  if  thou  covet  death,  as  utmost  end 
Of  misery,  so  thinking  to  evade 
The  penalty  pronounced,  doubt  not  but  God 
Hath  wiselier  armed  his  vengeful  ire,  than  so 
To  be  forestalled ;  much  more  I  fear  lest  death, 

So  snatched,  will  not  exempt  us  from  the  pain 
We  are  by  doom  to  pay ;  rather,  such  acts 
Of  contumacy  will  provoke  the  Highest 
To  make  death  in  us  live.  Then  let  us  seek 
Some  safer  resolution,  which  methinks 
I  have  in  view,  calling  to  mind  with  heed 
Part  of  our  sentence,  that  thy  seed  shall  bruise  . 


266 


PARADISE  DUST. 


[Book  X.- 1032-1068 


The  serpent’s  head — piteous  amends !  unless 
Be  meant,  whom  I  conjecture,  our  grand  foe, 

Satan,  who,  in  the  serpent,  hath  contrived 
Against  us  this  deceit — to  crush  his  head 
Would  he  revenge  indeed  !  which  will  be  lost, 

By  death  brought  on  ourselves,  or  childless  days 
Resolved,  as  thou  proposest ;  so  our  foe 
Shall  ’scape  his  punishment  ordained,  and  we, 
Instead,  shall  double  ours  upon  our  heads. 

No  more  he  mentioned  then,  of  violence 

Against  ourselves,  and  wilful  barrenness 

That  cuts  us  off  from  hope,  and  savours  only 

Rancour  and  pride,  impatience  and  despite, 

Reluctance  against  God,  and  his  just  yoke 

Laid  on  our  necks.  Remember  with  what  mild 

And  gracious  temper  he  both  heard  and  judged. 

Without  wrath  or  reviling.  We  expected 

Immediate  dissolution,  which  we  thought 

Was  meant  by  death  that  day ;  when  lo  !  to  thee 

Pains  only  in  child-bearing  were  foretold, 

And  bringing  forth,  soon  recompensed  with  joy, 
Fruit  of  thy  womb.  On  me  the  curse  aslope 
Glanced  on  the  ground  ;  with  labour  I  must  earn 
My  bread — what  harm  ?  Idleness  had  been  worse ; 
My  labour  will  sustain  me  ;  and  lest  cold 
Or  heat  should  injure  us,  his  timely  care 
Hath,  unbesought,  provided,  and  his  hands 
Clothed  us,  unworthy,  pitying  while  he  judged 
How  much  more,  if  we  pray  him,  will  his  ear 
Be  open,  and  his  heart  to  pity  incline, 

And  teach  us  further  by  what  means  to  shun 
The  inclement  seasons,  rain,  ice,  hail,  and  snow ! 
Which  now  the  sky,  with  various  face,  begins 
To  show  us  in  this  mountain  ;  while  the  winds 
Blow  moist  and  keen,  shattering  the  irraceful  locks 
Of  these  fair-spreading  trees ;  which  bids  us  seek 
Some  better  shroud,  some  better  warmth,  to  cherish 


tuOK  X.— 1069-1104] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


267 


Our  limbs  'benumbed,  ere  this  diurnal  star 
Leave  cold  the  night,  how  we  his  gathered  beams 
Reflected  may  with  matter  sere  foment ; 

Or,  by  collision  of  two  bodies,  grind 

The  air  attrite  to  fire :  as  ldte  the  clouds 

Justling,  or  pushed  with  winds,  rude  in  their  shock, 

Tine1  the  slant  lightning,  whose  thwart  flame,  driven  down, 
Kindles  the  gummy  bark  of  fir  or  pine, 

And  sends  a  comfortable  heat  from  far, 

Which  might  supply  the  sun :  such  fire  to  use, 

And  what  may  else  be  remedy  or  cure 
To  evils  which  our  own  misdeeds  have  wrought. 

He  will  instruct  us  praying,  and  of  grace 
Beseeching  him.  So  as  we  need  not  fear 
To  pass  comm  odiously  this  life,  sustained 
By  him  with  many  comforts,  till  we  end 
In  dust,  our  final  rest  and  native  home. 

What  better  can  we  do,  than,  to  the  place 
Repairing  where  he  judged  us,  prostrate  fall 
Before  him,  reverent ;  and  there  confess 
Humbly  our  faults,  and  pardon  beg,  with  tears 
Watering  the  ground,  and  with  our  sighs  the  air 
Frequenting,2  sent  from  hearts  contrite,  in  sign 
Of  sorrow  unfeigned,  and  humiliation  meek? 

Undoubtedly  he  will  relent,  and  turn 
From  his  displeasure ;  in  whose  look  serene, 

When  angry  most  he  seemed,  and  most  severe, 

What  else  but  favour,  grace,  and  mercy,  shone  ? 

So  spake  our  father,  penitent ;  nor  Eve 
Felt  less  remorse  :  they,  forthwith  to  the  place 
Repairing  where  he  judged  them,  prostrate  fell 
Before  him,  reverent,  and  both  confessed 
Humbly  their  faults,  and  pardon  begged,  with  tears 
Watering  the  ground ;  and  with  their  sighs  the  air 
Frequenting,  sent  from  hearts  contrite,  in  sign 
Of  sorrow  unfeigned,  and  humiliation  meek. 

5  Frequenting. — Filling. 


1  Tine. — Kindle.  Anglo-Saxon. 


BOOK  XI. 


The  Son  of  God  presents  to  His  Father  the  prayers  of  our  first  parents  now  repenting,  and  intercedes  for  them: 
God  accepts  them,  but  declares  that  they  must  no  longer  abide  in  Paradise ;  sends  Michael  with  a  band  of 
cherubim  to  dispossess  them;  but  first  to  reveal  to  Adam  future  things:  Michael's  coming  down.  Adam 
shows  to  Eve  certain  ominous  signs:  he  discerns  Michael’s  approach;  goes  out  to  meet  him:  the  angel  de¬ 
nounces  their  departure.  Eve’s  lamentation.  Adam  pleads,  but  submits:  the  angel  leads  him  up  to  a  high 
hill;  sets  before  him  in  vision  what  shall  happen  till  the  flood. 

"J^IIUS  they,  in  lowliest  plight,  repentant  stood, 

Praying ;  for  from  the  mercy-seat  above 
Prevenient1  grace  descending  had  removed 
The  stony  from  their  hearts,  and  made  new  flesh 
Regenerate  grow  instead,  that  sighs  now  breathed 
Unutterable,  which  the  Spirit  of  prayer 
Inspired,  and  winged  for  Heaven  with  speedier  flight 
Than  loudest  oratory.  Yet  their  port 
Not  of  mean  suitors;  nor  important  less 
Seemed  their  petition,  than  when  the  ancient  pair, 

In  fables  old,  less  ancient  yet  than  these, 

Deucalion  and  chaste  Pyrrha,  to  restore 
The  race  of  mankind  drowned,  before  the  shrine 
Of  Themis  stood  devout.  To  Heaven  their  prayers 
Flew  up,  nor  missed  the  way,  by  envious  winds 
Blown  vagabond  or  frustrate  :3  in  they  passed 
Dimensionless  through  Heavenly  doors ;  then  clad 
With  incense,  where  the  golden  altar  fumed, 

By  their  great  Intercessor,  came  in  sight 
Before  the  Father’s  throne  :  them  the  glad  Son 
Presenting,  thus  to  intercede  began  : 

See,  Father,  what  first-fruits  on  Earth  are  sprung 
From  thy  implanted  grace  in  man  ;  these  sighs 
And  prayers,  which,  in  this  golden  censer,  mixed 
With  incense,  I,  thy  priest,  before  thee  bring  ; 

Fruits  of  more  pleasing  savour,  from  thy  seed 


26S  1  Prevenient. — Going  before,  before  sought. 


1 Vagabond  or  frustrate. — Not  diverted  or  made  vain. 


Book  XI.— 27-62] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


26d 

Sown  with  contrition  in  his  heart,  than  those 
Which,  his  own  hand  manuring,  all  the  trees 
Of  Paradise  could  have  produced,  ere  fallen 
Prom  innocence.  Now,  therefore,  bend  thine  ear 
To  supplication ;  hear  his  sighs,  though  mute, 

Unskilful  with  what  words  to  pray  ;  let  me 
Interpret  for  him,  me,  his  Advocate 
And  propitiation ;  all  his  works  on  me, 

Good,  or  not  good,  ingraft  ;  my  merit  those 
Shall  perfect,  and  for  these  my  death  shall  pay. 

Accept  me  ;  and,  in  me,  from  these  receive 
The  smell  of  peace  toward  mankind ;  let  him  live 
Before  thee  reconciled,  at  least  his  days 
Numbered,  though  sad,  till  death,  his  doom — which  I 
To  mitigate  thus  plead,  not  to  reverse — 

To  better  life  shall  yield  him,  where  with  me 
All  my  redeemed  may  dwell  in  joy  and  bliss, 

Made  one  with  me,  as  I  with  thee  am  one. 

To  whom  the  Father,  without  cloud,  serene  : 

All  thy  request  for  Man,  accepted  Son, 

Obtain  ;  all  thy  request  was  my  decree. 

But,  longer  in  that  Paradise  to  dwell, 

The  law  I  gave  to  nature  him  forbids ; 

Those  pure  immortal  elements  that  know 
No  gross,  no  unharmonious  mixture  foul, 

Eject  him,  tainted  now,  and  purge  him  off, 

As  a  distemper  gross,  to  air  as  gross, 

And  mortal  food,  as  may  dispose  him  best 
For  dissolution  wrought  by  sin,  that  first 
Distempered  all  things,  and  of  incorrupt 
Corrupted.  I,  at  first,  with  two  fair  gifts 
Created  him  endowed,  with  happiness, 

And  immortality ;  that  fondly  lost, 

This  other  served  but  to  eternise  woe, 

Till  I  provided  death :  so  death  becomes 
His  final  remedy,  and,  after  life, 


270 


PARADISE  LOST. 


Book  XL- 03 -97 


Tried  in  sharp  tribulation,  and  refined 
By  faith  and  faithful  works,  to  second  life, 

Waked  in  the  renovation  of  the  just, 

Resigns  him  up  with  heaven  and  earth  renewed. 

But  let  us  call  to  synod  all  the  blest 

Through  heaven’s  wide  bounds ;  from  them  I  will  not  hide 
My  judgments,  how7  with  mankind  I  proceed, 

As  how'  with  peccant  Angels  late  they  saw, 

And  in  their  state,  though  firm,  stood  more  confirmed. 

He  ended,  and  the  Son  gave  signal  high 
To  the  bright  minister  that  watched.  He  blew  . 

His  trumpet,  heard  in  Oreb  since,  perhaps, 

When  God  descended,  and,  perhaps,  once  more 
To  sound  a  general  doom.  The  angelic  blast 
Filled  all  the  regions.  From  their  blissful  bowers 
Of  amaranthine  shade,  fountain  or  spring, 

By  the  waters  of  life,  where’er  they  sat 
In  fellowships  of  joy,  the  Sons  of  Light 
Hasted,  resorting  to  the  summons  high, 

And  took  their  seats,  till,  from  his  throne  supreme, 

The  Almighty  thus  pronounced  his  sovereign  w  ill  : 

0  Sons,  like  one  of  us  Man  is  become, 

To  know  both  good  and  evil,  since  his  taste 
Of  that  defended1  fruit ;  but  let  him  boast 
His  knowledge  of  good  lost,  and  evil  got ; 

Happier,  had  it  sufficed  him  to  have  known 
Good  by  itself,  and  evil  not  at  all. 

He  sorrows  now,  repents,  and  prays  contrite, 

My  motions  in  him ;  longer  than  they  move, 

His  heart  I  know7  how7  variable  and  vain. 

Self-left.  Lest,  therefore,  his  now  bolder  hand 
Reach  also  of  the  tree  of  life,  and  eat, 

And  live  for  ever, — dream  at  least  to  live 
For  ever — to  remove  him  I  decree, 

And  send  him  from  the  garden  forth  to  till 


1  Defended. — Forbidden. 


j3ook  XL-  98-131] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


271 


The  ground  whence  he  was  taken,  fitter  soil. 

Michael,  this  my  behest  have  thou  in  charge ; 

Take  to  thee  from  among  the  cherubim 
Thy  choice  of  flaming  warriors,  lest  the  Fiend, 

Or  in  behalf  of  man,  or  to  invade 
Vacant  possession,  some  new  trouble  raise. 

Haste  thee,  and  from  the  Paradise  of  God, 

Without  remorse,  drive  out  the  sinful  pair ; 

From  hallowed  ground  the  unholy  ;  and  denounce 
To  them,  and  to  their  progeny,  from  thence 
Perpetual  banishment.  Yet,  lest  they  faint 
At  the  sad  sentence  rigorously  urged — 

For  I  behold  them  softened,  and  with  tears 
Bewailing  their  excess — all  terror  hide. 

If  patiently  thy  bidding  they  obey, 

Dismiss  them  not  disconsolate ;  reveal 
To  Adam  what  shall  come  in  future  days, 

As  I  shall  thee  enlighten  ;  intermix 
My  covenant  in  the  woman’s  seed  renewed. 

So  send  them  forth,  though  sorrowing,  yet  in  peace,, 

And,  on  the  east  side  of  the  garden,,  place, 

Where  entrance  up  from  Eden  easiest  climbs, 

Cherubic  watch  ;  and  of  a  sword  the  flame 
Wide-waving,  all  approach  far  off  to  fright, 

And  guard  all  passage  to  the  tree  of  life, 

Lest  Paradise  a  receptacle  prove 

To  spirits  foul,  and  all  my  trees  their  prey, 

With  whose  stolen  fruit  Man  once  more  to  delude. 

He  ceased  ;  and  the  archangelic  Power  prepared 
For  swift  descent ;  with  him  the  cohort  bright 
Of  watchful  Cherubim.  Four  faces  each 
Had,  like  a  double  Janus  j1  all  their  shape 
Spangled  with  eyes  more  numerous  than  those 
Of  Argus2  and  more  wakeful  than  to  drowse, 

1  Double  Janus. — A  favourite  Roman  deity,  described  as  having  two  faces. 

a  Argus.— Son  of  Jupiter,  who  had  a  hundred  eyes  ;  but  being  hushed  to  sleep  by  the  pipe  of  Hermes  ('Mercury'' 
that  deity  cut  off  his  head. 


272  PARADISE  LOST.  [Book  XI.— 132-lofi 

Charmed  with  Arcadian  pipe,  the  pastoral  reed 
Of  Hermes,  or  his  opiate  rod.  Meanwhile, 

To  re-salute  the  world  with  sacred  light, 

Leucothea1  waked,  and  wTith  fresh  dews  embalmed 
The  earth ;  when  Adam  and  first  matron  Eve 
Had  ended  now  their  orisons,  and  found 
Strength  added  from  above,  new  hope  to  spring 
Out  of  despair,  jo}^,  but  with  fear  yet  linked ; 

Which  thus  to  Eve  his  welcome  words  renewed  : 

Eve,  easily  may  faith  admit  that  all 
The  good  which  we  enjoy  from  heaven  descends ; 

But  that  from  us  aught  should  ascend  to  Heaven 

•O 

So  prevalent,  as  to  concern  the  mind 
Of  God,  high-blest,  or  to  incline  His  will, 

Hard  to  belief  may  seem  ;  yet  this  will  prayer, 

Or  one  short  sigh  of  human  breath,  upborne 
Even  to  the  seat  of  God.  Eor  since  I  sought 
By  prayer  the  offended  Deity  to  appease, 

Kneeled,  and  before  him  humbled  all  my  heart, 

Methought  I  saw  him  placable  and  mild, 

Bending  his  ear  ;  persuasion  in  me  grew 
That  I  was  heard  with  favour ;  peace  returned 
Home  to  my  breast,  and  to  my  memory 
His  promise,  that  thy  seed  shall  bruise  our  foe ; 

Which,  then  not  minded  in  dismay,  yet  now 
Assures  me  that  the  bitterness  of  death 
Is  past,  and  wm  shall  live.  Whence,  hail  to  thee, 

Eve,  rightly  called  Mother  of  all  Mankind, 

Mother  of  all  things  living,  since  by  thee 
Man  is  to  live,  and  all  things  live  for  Man. 

To  whom  thus  Eve,  with  sad  demeanour,  meek  : 

Ill-worthy  I  such  title  should  belong 
To  me,  transgressor,  wTho,  for  thee  ordained 
A  help,  became  thy  snare :  to  me  reproach  * 

Bather  belongs,  distrust,  and  all  dispraise. 


1  Leucothea. — A  Grecian  divinity — a  goddess  of  the  morning  and  of  the  sea. 


Book  XI.— 167-202] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


273 


But  infinite  in  pardon  was  my  Judge, 

That  I,  who  first  brought  death  on  all,  am  graced 
The  source  of  life ;  next  favourable  thou, 

Who  highly  thus  to  entitle  me  vouchsafest, 

Far  other  name  deserving.  But  the  field 
To  labour  calls  us,  now  with  sweat  imposed, 

Though  after  sleepless  night ;  for  see !  the  Morn, 

All  unconcerned  with  our  unrest,  begins 
Her  rosy  progress,  smiling.  Let  us  forth, 

I  never  from  thy  side  henceforth  to  stray, 

Where’er  our  day’s  work  lies,  though  now  enjoined 
Laborious  till  day  droop.  While  here  we  dwell, 

What  can  he  toilsome  in  these  pleasant  walks  ? 

Here  let  us  live,  though  in  fallen  state,  content. 

So  spake,  so  wished,  much-humbled  Eve  ;  hut  fate 
Subscribed  not.  Nature  first  gave  signs,  impressed 
On  bird,  beast,  air — air  suddenly  eclipsed, 

After  short  blush  of  morn.  Nigh,  in  her  sight, 

The  bird  of  Jove,  stooped  from  his  aery  tour, 

Two  birds  of  gayest  plume  before  him  drove ; 

Down  from  a  hill,  the  beast  that  reigns  in  woods, 
First  hunter  then,  pursued  a  gentle  brace, 

Goodliest  of  all  the  forest,  hart  and  hind ; 

Direct  to  the  eastern  gate  was  bent  their  flight. 

Adam  observed,  and,  with  his  eye  the  chase 
Pursuing,  not  unmoved,  to  Eve  thus  spake  : 

0  Eve,  some  further  change  awaits  us  nigh, 
Which  Heaven,  by  these  mute  signs  in  Nature,  shows, 
Forerunners  of  His  purpose  ;  or  to  warn 
Us,  haply  too  secure  of  our  discharge 
From  penalty,  because  from  death  released 
Some  days ;  how  long,  and  what  till  then  our  life, 
Who  knows  ?  or  more  than  this,  that  we  are  dust, 
And  thither  must  return,  and  he  no  more  ? 

Why  else  this  clouble  object  in  our  sight, 

Of  flight  pursued  in  the  air,  and  o’er  the  ground. 


274 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  XI.- 203-237 


One  way  the  self-same  hour?  Why,  in  the  east, 
Darkness  ere  day’s  mid-course,  and  morning-light 
More  orient  in  yon  western  cloud,  that  draws 
O’er  the  blue  firmament  a  radiant  white, 

And  slow  descends  with  something  heavenly  fraught? 

He  erred  not ;  for,  by  this,  the  heavenly  hands 
Down  from  a  sky  of  jasper  lighted  now 
In  Paradise,  and  on  a  hill  made  halt ; 

A  glorious  apparition,  had  not  doubt 

And  carnal  fear  that  day  dimmed  Adam’s  eye. 

Not  that  more  glorious,  when  the  Angels  met 

Jacob  in  Mahanaim,1  where  he  saw 

The  field  pavilioned  with  his  guardians  bright ; 

Nor  that  which  on  the  flaming  mount  appeared 
In  Dothan,2  covered  with  a  camp  of  fire, 

Against  the  Syrian  king,  who,  to  surprise 
One  man,  assassin-like,  had  levied  war, 

War  unproclaimed.  The  princely  hierarch 

In  their  bright  stand  there  left  his  Powers,  to  seize 

Possession  of  the  garden.  He  alone, 

To  find  where  Adam  sheltered,  took  his  way, 

Not  unperceived  of  Adam  ;  who  to  Eve, 

While  the  great  visitant  approached,  thus  spake : 

Eve,  now  expect  great  tidings,  which,  perhaps, 

Of  us  will  soon  determine,  or  impose 
New  laws  to  be  observed  ;  for  I  descry, 

From  yonder  blazing  cloud  that  veils  the  hill, 

One  of  the  heavenly  host,  and,  by  his  gait, 

None  of  the  meanest ;  some  great  -Potentate, 

Or  of  the  Thrones  above,  such  majesty 
Invests  his  coming ;  yet  not  terrible, 

That  I  should  fear,  nor  sociably  mild, 

As  Paphael,  that  I  should  much  confide, 

But  solemn  and  sublime  ;  whom,  not  to  offend. 

With  reverence  I  must  meet,  and  thou  retire. 


1  Jacob  in  Mahan  aim. — Gen.  xxxii. 


3  Dothan. — 2  Kings  vi.  13 — 1?. 


The  heavenly  bands 
Down  from  a  sky  of  jasper  lighted  now 
In  Paradise. 

Booh  XL,  lines  208—210. 


Book  XL— 238-272] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


275 


He  ended;  and  the  Archangel  soon  drew  nigh, 

Not  in  his  shape  celestial,  hut  as  man 

% 

Clad  to  meet  man.  Over  his  lucid  arms 
A  military  vest  of  purple  flowed, 

Livelier  than  Melihoean,  or  the  grain 
Of  Sarra,  worn  hy  kings  and  heroes  old 
In  time  of  truce :  Iris  had  dipt  the  woof. 

His  starry  helm  unbuckled  showed  him  prime 
In  manhood  where  youth  ended  ;  hy  his  side, 

As  in  a  glistering  zodiac,  hung  the  sword, 

Satan’s  dire  dread,  and  in  his  hand  the  spear. 
Adam  bowed  low\  He,  kingly,  from  his  state 
Inclined  not,  but  his  coming  thus  declared  : 

Adam,  Heaven’s  high  behest  no  preface  needs : 
Sufficient  that  thy  prayers  are  heard ;  and  Death, 
Then  due  hy  sentence  when  thou  didst  transgress, 
Defeated  of  his  seizure  many  days, 

Given  thee  of  grace,  wherein  thou  mayst  repent, 
And  one  bad  act  with  many  deeds  well  done 
Mayst  cover :  well  may,  then,  thy  Lord,  appeased, 
Redeem  thee  quite  from  Death’s  rapacious  claim. 
But  longer  in  this  Paradise  to  dwell 
Permits  not.  To  remove  thee  I  am  come, 

And  send  thee  from  the  garden  forth,  to  till 
The  ground  whence  thou  wast  taken,  fitter  soil. 

He  added  not ;  for  Adam,  at  the  news 
Heart-struck,  with  chilling  gripe  of  sorrow  stood, 
That  all  his  senses  hound :  Eve,  who  unseen, 

Yet  all  had  heard,  with  audible  lament 
Discovered  soon  the  place  of  her  retire 

0  unexpected  stroke,  worse  than  of  Death  ! 
Must  I  thus  leave  thee,  Paradise  ?  thus  leave 
Thee,  native  soil  !  these  happy  walks  and  shades, 
Fit  haunt  of  gods?  where  I  had  hope  to  spend, 
Quiet,  though  sad,  the  respite  of  that  day 


1  Her  retire. — Her  retirement,  retreat. 


276 


PARADISK  LOST. 


[Book  XI.— 273-308 


That  must  be  mortal  to  us  both?  0  iiowers, 

That  never  will  in  other  climate  grow, 

* 

My  early  visitation,  and  my  last 

At  even,  which  I  bred  up  with  tender  hand 

From  the  first  opening  bud,  and  gave  ye  names ! 

Who  now  shall  rear  ye  to  the  sun,  or  rank 

Your  tribes,  and  water  from  the  ambrosial  fount  ? 

Thee,  lastly,  nuptial  bower,  by  me  adorned 

With  what  to  sight  or  smell  was  sweet,  from  thee 

How  shall  I  part,  and  wither  wander  down 

Into  a  lower  world,  to  this  obscure 

And  wild  ?  How  shall  we  breathe  in  other  air 

Less  pure,  accustomed  to  immortal  fruits  ? 

Whom  thus  the  Angel  interrupted  mild : 

Lament  not,  Eve,  but  patiently  resign 
What  justly  thou  hast  lost,  nor  set  thy  heart, 

Thus  over  fond,  on  that  which  is  not  thine. 

Thy  going  is  not  lonely  ;  with  thee  goes 
Thy  husband ;  him  to  follow  thou  art  bound ; 

Where  he  abides,  think  there  thy  native  soil. 

Adam,  by  this  from*  the  cold  sudden  damp 
Recovering,  and  his  scattered  spirits  returned, 

To  Michael  thus  his  humble  words  addressed : 

Celestial,  whether  among  the  Thrones,  or  named 
Of  them  the  Highest,  for  such  of  shape  may  seem 
Prince  above  princes !  gently  hast  thou  told 
Thy  message,  which  might  else  in  telling  wound. 
And,  in  performing,  end  us.  What  besides 
Of  sorrow,  and  dejection,  and  despair, 

Our  frailty  can  sustain,  thy  tidings  bring, 

Departure  from  this  happy  place — our  sweet 
Recess,  and  only  consolation  left 
Familiar  to  our  eyes — all  places  else 
Inhospitable  appear,  and  desolate, 

Nor  knowing  us,  nor  known  :  and  if,  by  prayer 
Incessant,  I  could  hope  to  change  the  will 


Book  XI.— 309-344 J 


PARADISE  LOST. 


277 


Of  Him  who  all  tilings  can,  I  would  not  cease 
To  weary  him  with  my  assiduous  cries. 

But  prayer  against  his  absolute  decree 
No  more  avails  than  breath  against  the  wind, 

Blown  stifling  back  on  him  that  breathes  it  forth. 
Therefore  to  His  great  bidding  I  submit. 

This  most  afflicts  me ;  that,  departing  hence, 

As  from  His  face  I  shall  be  hid,  deprived 
His  blessed  countenance.  Here  I  could  frequent, 
With  worship,  place  by  place  where  he  vouchsafed 
Presence  Divine,  and  to  my  sons  relate, 

On  this  mount  He  appeared ;  under  this  tree 
Stood  visible  ;  among  these  pines  his  voice 
I  heard ;  here  with  Him  at  this  fountain  talked. 

So  many  grateful  altars  I  would  rear 
Of  grassy  turf,  and  pile  up  every  stone 
Of  lustre  from  the  brook,  in  memory 
Or  monument  to  ages,  and  thereon 
Offer  sweet-smelling  gums,  and  fruits,  and  flowers. 

In  yonder  nether  world  where  shall  I  seek 
His  bright  appearances,  or  footstep  trace  ? 

For  though  I  fled  him  angry,  yet,  recalled 
To  life  prolonged  and  promised  race,  I  now 
Gladly  behold  though  but  his  utmost  skirts 
Of  glory,  and  far  off  his  steps  adore. 

To  whom  thus  Michael,  with  regard  benign : 
Adam,  thou  knowest  heaven  His,  and  all  the  earth ; 
Not  this  rock  only.  His  omnipresence  fills 
Land,  sea,  and  air,  and  every  kind  that  lives, 
Fomented  by  his  virtual  power,  and  warmed. 

All  the  earth  he  gave  thee  to  possess  and  rule, 

No  despicable  gift.  Surmise  not,  then, 

His  presence  to  these  narrow  bounds  confined 
Of  Paradise,  or  Eden  ;  this  had  been 
Perhaps,  thy  capital  seat,  from  whence  had  spread, 
All  generations,  and  had  hither  come, 


278 


PARADISE  LOST, 


[Book  XI.— 345-380 


From  all  the  ends  of  the  Earth,  to  celebrate 
And  reverence  thee,  their  great  progenitor, 

But  this  pre-eminence  thou  hast  lost,  brought  down 
To  dwell  on  even  ground  now  with  thy  sons. 

Yet  doubt  not  hut  in  valley  and  in  plain, 

God  is,  as  here,  and  will  he  found  alike 
Present ;  and  of  his  presence  many  a  sign 
Still  following  thee,  still  compassing  thee  round 
With  goodness  and  Paternal  love,  his  face 
Express,  and  of  his  steps  the  track  divine. 

Which  that  thou  mayst  believe,  and  he  confirmed 
Ere  thou  from  hence  depart,  know,  I  am  sent 
To  shew  thee  what  shall  come  in  future  days 
To  thee,  and  to  thy  offspring ;  good  with  had 
Expect  to  hear,  supernal  grace  contending 
With  sinfulness  of  men  ;  thereby  to  learn 
True  patience,  and  to  temper  joy  with  fear 
And  pious  sorrow,  equally  inured 
By  moderation  either  state  to  bear, 

Prosperous  or  adverse.  So  shalt  thou  lead 

Safest  thy  life,  and  best  prepared  endure 

Thy  mortal  passage  wdien  it  comes.  Ascend 

This  hill ;  let  Eve — for  I  have  drenched  her  eyes — - 

Here  sleep  below,  while  thou  to  foresight  wakest ; 

As  once  thou  sleptest,  while  she  to  life  w7as  formed. 

To  whom  thus  Adam  gratefully  replied  : 

Ascend,  I  follow  thee,  safe  guide,  the  path 

Thou  leadest  me ;  and  to  the  hand  of  Heaven  submit, 

However  chastening ;  to  the  evil  turn 

My  obvious  breast,  arming  to  overcome 

By  suffering,  and  earn  rest  from  labour  won, 

If  so  I  may  attain.  So  both  ascend 
In  the  visions  of  God.  It  was  a  hill, 

Of  Paradise  the  highest,  from  whose  top, 

The  hemisphere  of  earth,  in  clearest  ken, 

Stretched  out  to  the  amplest  reach  of  prospect,  lay, 


Book  XI.— 381-411] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


270 


Not  higher  that  hill,  nor  wider  looking  round, 

Whereon,  for  different  cause,  the  Tempter  set 
Our  second  Adam,  in  the  wilderness, 

To  show  him  all  Earth’s  kingdoms,1  and  their  glory. 

His  eye  might  there  command  wherever  stood 
City  of  old  or  modern  fame,  the  seat 
Of  mightiest  empire,  from  the  destined  walls 
Of  Cambalu,  seat  of  Cathaian3  Cham, 

And  Samarcand  by  Oxus,  Temir’s3  throne, 

To  Paquin,  of  Sinsean  kings ;  and  thence 
To  Agra,  and  Labor,  of  Great  Mogul, 

Down  to  the  golden  Chersonese  ;4  or  where 
The  Persian  in  Ecbatan  sat,  or  since 

4 

In  Hispahan ;  or  where  the  Russian  Czar 
In  Moscow ;  or  the  Sultan  in  Bizance,5 
Turchestan-born  ;6  nor  could  his  eye  not  ken 
The  empire  of  Negus  to  his  utmost  port 
Ercoco,  and  the  less  maritime  kings, 

Mombaza,  and  Quiloa,  and  Melind, 

And  Sofala — thought  Ophir — to  the  realm 
Of  Congo,  and  Angola  farthest  south  : 

Or  thence  from  Niger  flood  to  Atlas  mount 
The  kingdoms  of  Almanzor,  Fez  and  Sus, 

Morocco,  and  Algiers,  and  Tremisen ; 

On  Europe  thence,  and  where  Rome  was  to  sway 
The  world.  In  spirit,  perhaps,  he  also  saw 
Rich  Mexico,  the  seat  of  Montezume, 

And  Cusco  in  Peru,  the  richer  seat 
Of  Atabalipa,  and  yet  unspoiled 
Guiana,  whose  great  city  Geryon’s  sons 
Call  El  Dorado.7  But  to  nobler  sights 

1  All  Earth's  Kingdoms. — This  description  is  in  part  literal,  or  seems  to  be  so;  but  Milton  must  have  known  that, 
from  many  causes,  his  readers  could  only  regard  it  as  a  vision. 

2  Cathaian. — Cathai  was  accounted  the  residenc  of  the  great  Zinghis  Khan. 

3  Temir. — Timur  Lung — Tamerlane. 

4  Golden  Chersonese. — Peninsula  of  Molucca. 

6  Bizance. — Byzantium,  Con stan t i n ople. 

3  Turchestan-horn. — Descended  from  a  race  which  had  migrated  from  Turchestan. 

7  El  Dorado. — The  country  in  which  the  unfortunate  Raleigh  had  hoped  to  realize  large  wealth. 


280 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  XI.— 412-445 


Michael  from  Adam’s  eyes  the  film  removed, 

Which  that  false  fruit,  that  promised  clearer  sight, 
Had  bred  ;  then  purged  with  euphrasy  and  rue1 
The  visual  nerve,  for  he  had  much  to  see, 

And  from  the  well  of  life  three  drops  instilled. 

So  deep  the  power  of  these  ingredients  pierced, 
Even  to  the  inmost  seat  of  mental  sight, 

That  Adam,  nowT  enforced  to  close  his  eyes, 

Sunk  down,  and  all  his  spirits  became  entranced ; 
But  him  the  gentle  angel  by  the  hand 
Soon  raised,  and  his  attention  thus  recalled : 

Adam,  now  ope  thine  eyes,  and  first  behold 
The  effects  which  thy  original  crime  hath  wrought 
In  some  to  spring  from  thee,  who  never  touched 
The  excepted  tree,  nor  with  the  snake  conspired, 
Nor  sinned  thy  sin ;  yet  from  that  sin  derive 
Corruption,  to  bring  forth  more  violent  deeds. 

His  eyes  he  opened,  and  beheld  a  field, 

Part  arable  and  tilth,  whereon  were  sheaves 
New  reaped;  the  other  part,  sheep-walks  and  folds; 
In  the  midst  an  altar,  as  the  landmark  stood, 
Rustic,  of  grassy  sward.  Thither,  anon, 

A  sweaty  reaper  from  his  tillage  brought 
First-fruits,  the  green  ear,  and  the  yellow  sheaf, 
Unculled,  as  came  to  hand  ;  a  shepherd  next, 

More  meek,  came  with  the  firstlings  of  his  flock, 

Choicest  and  best  ;  then,  sacrificing,  laid 

The  inwards  and  their  fat,  with  incense  strewed, 

On  the  cleft  wood,  and  all  due  rites  performed. 

His  offering  soon  propitious  fire  from  heaven 
Consumed  with  nimble  glance,  and  grateful  steam ; 
The  other’s  not,  for  his  was  not  sincere. 

Whereat  he  inly  raged,  and,  as  they  talked, 

Smote  him  into  the  midriff  wffth  a  stone 


1  Euphrasy  and  rue. — Fomentations  from  the  plants  so  named  were  supposed  to  be  good  for  the  sight. 


Book  XI.— 446-477 


PARADISE  LOST. 


281 


That  beat  out  life.1  He  fell,  and,  deadly  pale, 

Groaned  out  his  soul,  with  gushing  blood  etfused. 

Much  at  that  sight  was  Adam  in  his  heart 
Dismayed,  and  thus  in  haste  to  the  Angel  cried : 

0  Teacher,  some  great  mischief  hath  befallen 
To  that  meek  man,  who  well  had  sacrificed  ; 

Is  piety  thus,  and  pure  devotion,  paid  ? 

To  whom  Michael  thus,  he  also  moved,  replied : 

These  two  are  brethren,  Adam,  and  to  come 
Out  of  thy  loins.  The  unjust  the  just  hath  slain, 

Dor  envy  that  his  brother’s  offering  found 
From  Heaven  acceptance;  but  the  bloody  fact 
Will  be  avenged,  and  the  other’s  faith,  approved, 

Lose  no  reward,  though  here  thou  see  him  die, 

Lolling  in  dust  and  gore.  To  which  our  sire : 

Alas  !  both  for  the  deed,  and  for  the  cause ! 

But  have  I  now  seen  death  ?  Is  this  the  way 
I  must  return  to  native  dust  ?  0  sight 

Of  terror,  foul  and  ugly  to  behold ! 

Horrid  to  think,  how  horrible  to  feel ! 

To  whom  thus  Michael  :  Death  thou  hast  seen 
In  his  first  shape  on  Man ;  but  many  shapes 
Of  Death,  and  many  are  the  ways  that  lead 
To  his  grim  cave  ;  all  dismal,  yet  to  sense 
More  terrible  at  the  entrance  than  within. 

Some,  as  thou  sawest,  by  violent  stroke  shall  die ; 

By  fire,  flood,  famine ;  by  intemperance  more 
In  meats  and  drinks,  which  on  earth  shall  bring 
Diseases  dire,  of  which  a  monstrous  crew’ 

Before  thee  shall  appear,  that  thou  mayst  know 
What  misery  the  inabstinence  of  Eve 
Shall  bring  on  men.  Immediately  a  place 

1  “And  Abel  was  a  keeper  of  sbeep.  but  Cain  was  a  tiller  of  the  ground.  And  in  process  of  time  it  came  to  pass, 
that  Cain  brought  of  the  fruit  of  the  ground  an  offering  unto  the  Lord.  And  Abel,  he  also  brought  of  the  firstlings 
of  his  flock,  and  of  the  fat  thereof.  And  the  Lord  had  respect  unto  Abel  and  to  his  offering;  but  unto  Cain  and  to 
his  offering  he  had  not  respect.  And  Cain  was  very  wroth,  and  his  countenance  fell.  .  .  .  And  Cain  talked  with 

Abel  his  brother  :  and  it  came  to  pass,  when  they  were  in  the  field,  that  Cain  rose  up  against  Abel  his  brother,  and 
slew  him.”  (Gen.  iv.  2-8.) 


282 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  XI.— 478-511 


Before  his  eyes  appeared,  sad,  noisome,  dark, 

A  lazar-house1  it  seemed,  wherein  were  laid 
Numbers  of  all  diseased  ;  all  maladies 
Of  ghastly  spasm,  or  racking  torture,  qualms 
Of  heart-sick  agony,  all  feverous  kinds, 
Convulsions,  epilepsies,  fierce  catarrhs, 

Intestine  stone  and  ulcer,  cholic  pangs, 

Demoniac  frenzy,  moping  melancholy, 

And  moon-struck  madness,  pining  atiophy,2 
Marasmus,3  and  wide-wasting  pestilence, 

Dropsies  and  asthmas,  and  joint-racking  rheums, 
Dire  was  the  tossing,  deep  the  groans.  Despair 
Tended  the  sick,  busiest  from  couch  to  couch ; 
And  over  them  triumphant  Death  his  dart 
Shook,  but  delayed  to  strike,  though  oft  invoked 
With  vows,  as  their  chief  good,  and  final  hope. 
Sight  so  deform  what  heart  of  rock  could  long 
Dry-eyed  behold  ?  Adam  could  not,  hut  wept, 
Though  not  of  woman  horn ;  compassion  quelled 
His  best  of  man,  and  gave  him  up  to  tears 
A  space,  till  firmer  thoughts  restrained  excess ; 
And,  scarce  recovering  words,  his  plaint  renewed : 

0  miserable  mankind,  to  what  fall 
Degraded,  to  what  wretched  state  reserved  ! 

Better  end  here  unborn.  Why  is  life  given 
To  he  thus  wrested  from  us?  Bather  why 
Obtruded  on  us  thus?  who,  if  we  knew 
What  we  receive,  would  either  not  accept 
Life  offered,  or  soon  beg  to  lay  it  down, 

Glad  to  be  so  dismissed  in  peace.  Can. thus 
The  image  of  God  in  man,  created  once 
So  goodly  and  erect,  though  faulty  since, 

To  such  unsightly  sufferings  be  debased 
Under  inhuman  pains?  Why  should  not  man, 


1  A  lazar-liouse. — A  hospital. 

5  Atrophy  (dr ftoqrnx). — When  a  body  wastes  away  from  disease  in  the  digestive  organs. 
3 Marasmus  (uofpad/j.6^). — Consumption. 


Book  XL— 512-547J 


PARADISE  LOST. 


288 


Retaining  still  Divine  similitude 
In  part,  from  such  deformities  be  free, 

And,  for  liis  Maker’s  image  sake,  exempt. 

Their  Maker’s  image,  answered  Michael,  then 
Forsook  them,  when  themselves  they  vilified 
To  serve  ungoverned  appetite,  and  took 
His  image  whom  they  served,  a  brutish  vice, 

Inductive  mainly  to  the  sin  of  Eve. 

Therefore  so  abject  is  their  punishment, 

Disfiguring  not  God’s  likeness,  hut  their  own ; 

Or,  if  His  likeness,  by  themselves  defaced  ; 

While  they  pervert  pure  nature’s  healthful  rules 
To  loathsome  sickness  ;  worthily,  since  they 
God’s  image  did  not  reverence  in  themselves. 

I  yield  it  just,  said  Adam,  and  submit  : 

But  is  there  yet  no  other  way,  besides 
These  painful  passages,  how  we  may  come 
To  death,  and  mix  with  our  connatural  dust  ? 

There  is,,  said  Michael,  if  thou  well  observe 
The  rule  of :  Not  too  much — by  temperance  taught, 

In  what  thou  eat’st  and  drink’st  ;  seeking  from  thence 
Due  nourishment,  not  gluttonous  delight. 

Till  many  years  over  thy  head  return, 

So  mayst  thou  live,  till,  like  ripe  fruit,  thou  drop 
Into  thy  mother’s  lap,  or  be  with  ease 
Gathered,  not  harshly  plucked,  for  death  mature. 

This  is  old  age  ;  but,  then,  thou  must  outlive 

Thy  youth,  thy  strength,  thy  beauty  ;  which  will  change 

To  withered,  weak,  and  gray ;  thy  senses  then, 

Obtuse,  all  taste  of  pleasure  must  forego, 

To  what  thou  hast ;  and  for  the  air  of  youth, 

Hopeful  and  cheerful,  in  thy  blood  will  reign 
A  melancholy  damp  of  cold  and  dry, 

To  weigh  thy  spirits  down,  and  last  consume 
The  balm  of  life.  To  whom  our  ancestor  : 

Henceforth  I  fly  not  Death,  nor  would  prolong 


284 


PARADISE  LOST. 

4 


[Book  XL -548-580 


Life  much  ;  bent,  rather,  how  I  may  he  quit, 

Fairest  and  easiest,  of  this  cumbrous  charge, 

Which  I  must  keep  till  my  appointed  day 
Of  rendering  up,  and  patiently  attend 
My  dissolution.  Michael  replied  : 

Nor  love  thy  life,  nor  hate,  but  what  thou  livest 
Live  well ;  how  long,  or  short,  permit  to  Heaven. 

And  now  prepare  thee  for  another  sight. 

He  looked,  and  saw  a  spacious  plain,  whereon 
Were  tents  of  various  hues.1  By  some  were  herds 
Of  cattle  grazing ;  others,  whence  the  sound 
Of  instruments,  that  made  melodious  chime, 

Was  heard,  of  harp  and  organ,  and  who  moved 
Their  stops  and  chords  was  seen,  his  volant  touch, 

Instinct  through  all  proportions,  low  and  high, 

Fled  and  pursued  transverse  the  resonant  fugue. 

In  other  part  stood  one  who,  at  the  forge 
Labouring,  two  massy  clods  of  iron  and  brass 
Had  melted — whether  found  where  casual  tire 
Had  wasted  woods  on  mountain  or  in  vale, 

Down  to  the  veins  of  learth,  thence  gliding  hot 
To  some  cave’s  mouth,  or  whether  w7aslied  by  stream 
From  under  ground.  The  liquid  ore  he  drained 
Into  fit  moulds  prepared,  from  which  he  formed 
First,  his  own  tools,  then,  what  might  else  be  wrought 
Fusil  or  graven3  in  metal.  After  these, 

But  on  the  hither  side,  a  different  sort, 

From  the  high  neighbouring  hills,  which  was  their  seat, 

Down  to  the  plain  descended  ;  by  their  guise 
Just  men  they  seemed,  and  all  their  study  bent 
To  worship  God  aright,  and  know  his  works 
Not  hid,  nor  those  things  last,  which  might  preserve 
freedom  and  peace  to  men.  They  on  the  plain 

V/e>e  tents  oj  various  hues  “And  Adah  bare  Jabal:  he  was  the  father  of  such  as  dwell  in  tents,  and  of  such  as 
have  cattle.  And  his  brother’s  name  was  Jubal :  he  was  the  father  of  all  such  as  handle  the  harp  and  organ.  And 
Zillali,  she  also  bare  Tubal-Caiu,  an  instructor  of  every  artificer  in  brass  and  iron.”  (Gen.  iv.  20-22. 

4  Fusil  or  graven. — Fused  or  graven.) 


Book  XL— 581-612] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


285 


Long'  liad  not  walked,  when  from  the  tents,  behold 
A  bevy  of  fair  women,  richly  gay 
In  gems  and  wanton  dress  ;  to  the  harp  they  sung 
Soft  amorous  ditties,  and  in  dance  came  on. 

The  men,  though  grave,  eyed  them,  and  let  their  eyes 

Rove  without  rein  ;  till,  in  the  amorous  net 

Fast  caught,  they  liked,  and  each  his  liking  chose. 

And  now  of  love  they  treat,  till  the  evening  star, 
Love’s  harbinger,  appeared ;  then,  all  in  heat, 

They  light  the  nuptial  torch,  and  bid  invoke 
Hymen,  then  first  to  marriage  rites  invoked  ; 

With  feast  and  music  all  the  tents  resound. 

Such  happy  interview  and  fair  event 
Of  love  and  youth  not  lost,  songs,  garlands,  flowers, 
And  charming  symphonies,  attached  the  heart1 
Of  Adam,  soon  inclined  to  admit  delight, 

The  bent  of  nature  ;  which  he  thus  expressed : 

True  opener  of  mine  eyes,  prime  Angel  blest, 
Much  better  seems  this  vision,  and  more  hope 
Of  peaceful  days  portends,  than  those  two  past ; 

Those  were  of  hate  and  death,  or  pain  much  worse : 
Here  nature  seems  fulfilled  in  all  her  ends. 

To  whom  thus  Michael  :  Judge  not  what  is  best 
By  pleasure,  though  to  nature  seeming  meet ; 

Created,  as  thou  art,  to  nobler  end 
Holy  and  pure,  conformity  divine. 

Those  tents  thou  sawest  so  pleasant  were  the  tents 
Of  wickedness,  wherein  shall  dwell  his  race 
Who  slew  his  brother ;  studious  they  appear 
Of  arts  that  polish  life,  inventors  rare, 

Unmindful  of  their  Maker,  though  his  Spirit 
Taught  them,2  but  they  his  gifts  acknowledged  none 


1  Attached  the  heart.-  >'■  And  it  came  to  pass  when  men  began  to  multiply  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  daughters 
were  born  unto  them,  that  the  sons  of  God  saw  the  daughters  of  men  that  they  were  fair  ;  and  they  took  them  wives 
of  all  which  they  chose.”  (Gen.  vi.  1,  2. 

a  Though  his  Spirit  taught  them. — “And  he  hath  filled  him  with  the  spirit  of  God,  in  wisdom,  in  understanding,  and 
in  knowledge,  and  in  all  manner  of  workmanship.”  (Exod.  xxxv.  31.) 


286 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[BOOK  XI. — 613-641 


Yet  they  a  beauteous  offspring  shall  beget ; 

For  that  fair  female  troop  thou  sawest,  that  seemed 
Of  goddesses,  so  blithe,  so  smooth,  so  gay, 

Yet  empty  of  all  good,  wherein  consists 
Woman’s  domestic  honour  and  chief  praise; 

Bred  only  and  completed  to  the  taste 
Of  lustful  appetance,  to  sing,  to  dance, 

To  dress,  and  troll  the  tongue,  and  roll  the  eye  : 

To  these  that  sober  race  of  men,  whose  lives 
Religious  titled  them  the  sons  of  God, 

Shall  yield  up  all  their  virtue,  all  their  fame, 
Ignobly,  to  the  trains  and  to  the  smiles 
Of  these  fair  atheists ;  and  now  swim  in  joy, 

Ere  long  to  swim  at  large ;  and  laugh,  for  which 
The  world  ere  long  a  world  of  tears  must  weep 
To  whom  thus  Adam,  of  short  joy  bereft : 

0  pity  and  shame,  that  they,  who  to  live  well 
Entered  so  fair,  should  turn  aside  to  tread 
Paths  indirect,  or  in  the  midway  faint ! 

But  still  I  see  the  tenor  of  man’s  woe 
Holds  on  the  same,  from  woman  to  begin. 

From  man’s  effeminate  slackness  it  begins, 

Said  the  angel,  who  should  better  hold  his  place 
By  wisdom  and  superior  gifts  received. 

But  now  prepare  thee  for  another  scene. 

He  looked,  and  saw  wide  territory  spread 
Before  him,  towns,  and  rural  works  between, 

Cities  of  men  with  lofty  gates  and  towers, 

Concourse  in  arms,  fierce  faces  threatening  war, 
Giants  of  mighty  hone  and  bold  emprise.1 
Part  wield  their  arms,  part  curb  the  foaming  steed, 
Single,  or  in  array  of  battle  ranged, 

Both  horse  and  foot,  nor  idly  mustering  stood. 

One  way  a  band  select  from  forage  drives 
A  herd  of  beeves,  fair  oxen  and  fair  kine, 


Bold  emprise. — Courageous  deeds. 


Book  XI.-G48-680] 


PARADISE  LOSri . 


287 


From  a  fat  meadow-ground ;  or  fleecy  flock, 

Ewes  and  their  bleating  lambs  over  the  plain, 
Their  booty ;  scarce  with  life  the  shepherds  fly, 

But  call  in  aid,  which  makes  a  bloody  fray. 

With  cruel  tournament  the  squadrons  join ; 

Where  cattle  pastured  late,  now  scattered  lies 

With  carcases  and  arms,  the  ensanguined  field 

Deserted.  Others  to  a  city  strong 

Lay  siege,  encamped  ;  by  battery,  scale,  and  mine, 

Assaulting ;  others  from  the  wall  defend 

With  dart  and  javelin,  stones,  and  sulphurous  fire  ; 

On  each  hand  slaughter,  and  gigantic  deeds. 

In  other  part  the  sceptred  heralds  call 
To  council,  in  the  city  gates.  Anon 
Gray-headed  men  and  grave,  with  warriors  mixed, 
Assemble,  and  harangues  are  heard  ;  but  soon 
In  factious  opposition,  till,  at  last, 

Of  middle  age  one  rising,  eminent 

In  wise  deport,  spake  much  of  right  and  wrong, 

Of  justice,  of  religion,  truth,  and  peace, 

And  judgment  from  above ;  him  old  and  young 
Exploded,1  and  had  seized  with  violent  hands, 

Had  not  a  cloud  descending  snatched  him  thence, 
Unseen  amid  the  throng.  So  violence 
Proceeded,  and  oppression,  and  sword  law, 

Through  all  the  plain,  and  refuge  none  was  found. 
Adam  was  all  in  tears,  and  to  his  guide 
Lamenting,  turned  full  sad  :  0  what  are  these? 
Death’s  ministers,  not  men  !  who  thus  deal  death 
Inhumanly  to  men,  and  multiply 
Ten  thousand  fold  the  sin  of  him  who  slew 
His  brother ;  for  of  whom  such  massacre 
Make  they,  but  of  their  brethren,  men  of  men  ? 


1  Exploded. — Denounced,  hissed.  The  poet’s  account  of  Enoch  is  taken  in  part  from  the  Apocryphal  Book  of 
Enoch  cited  in  the  Epistle  of  Jude — “Enoch  also,  the  seventh  from  Adam,  prophesied  of  these,  saying.  Behold,  the 
Lord  cometh  with  ten  thousand  of  his  saints.”  (Jude  14.)  “And  Enoch  walked  with  God:  and  he  was  not  ;  for  God 
took  him.”  (Gen.  v.  24.) 


288 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Rook  XL— 681-713 


Blit  who  was  that  just  man,  whom  had  not  Heaven 
Kescued,  had  in  his  righteousness  been  lost? 

To  whom  thus  Michael  :  These  are  the  product 
Of  those  ill-mated  marriages'  thou  sawest ; 

Where  good  with  bad  wTere  matched,  who  of  themselves 
Abhor  to  join,  and,  by  imprudence  mixed, 

Produce  prodigious  births  of  body  or  mind. 

Such  -were  those  giants,  men  of  high  renown ; 

Bor  in  those  days  might  only  shall  be  admired, 

And  valour  and  heroic  virtue  called. 

To  overcome  in  battle,  and  subdue 
Nations,  and  bring  home  spoils,  with  infinite 
Manslaughter,  shall  be  held  the  highest  pitch 
Of  human  glory ;  and  for  glory  done 
Of  triumph,  to  be  styled  great  conquerors, 

Patrons  of  mankind,  gods,  and  sons  of  gods  ; 

Destroyers  rightlier  called,  and  plagues  of  men. 

Thus  fame  shall  be  achieved,  renown  on  earth ; 

And  what  most  merits  fame,  in  silence  hid. 

But  he,  the  seventh  from  thee,  whom  thou  beheldest 
The  only  righteous  in  a  world  perverse, 

And  therefore  hated,  therefore  so  beset 
With  foes,  for  daring  single  to  be  just, 

And  utter  odious  truth,  that  God  would  come 
To  judge  them  with  Ilis  saints,  him  the  Most  High, 
llapt  in  a  balmy  cloud  with  winged  steeds, 

Did,  as  thou  sawest,  receive,  to  walk  with  God 
High  in  salvation  and  the  climes  of  bliss, 

Exempt  from  death  ;  to  shew  thee  what  reward 
Awaits  the  good;  the  rest  what  punishment, 

Which  now  direct  thine  eyes  and  soon  behold. 

He  looked  and  saw  the  face  of  things  quite  changed. 
The  brazen  throat  of  war  had  ceased  to  roar. 


1  Ill-mated  marriages. — “There  were  giants  in  the  earth  in  those  (lays  ;  and  also  after  that,  when  the  sons  of  God 
came  in  unto  the  daughters  of  men,  and  they  bare  children  to  them,  the  same  became  mighty  men  which  were  of  old, 
men  of  renown.”  (Gen.  vi.  4.) 


* 


■ 


. 


Began  to  build  a  vessel  of  huge  bulk. 

Book  XI,  line  729. 


47 


48 


All  dwellings  else 

?lood  overwhelmed,  and  them,  with  all  their  pomp, 

Deep  under  water  rolled. 

1  Booh  XL ,  lines  747—  749. 


Book  XI.— 714-749] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


289 


All  now  was  changed  to  jollity  and  game, 

To  luxury  and  riot,  feast  and  dance ; 

Marrying  or  prostituting,  as  befell, 

Rape  or  adultery,  where  passing  fair 

Allured  them — thence  from  cups  to  civil  broils. 

At  length  a  reverend  sire  among  them  came, 

And  of  their  doings  great  dislike  declared, 

And  testified  against  their  ways.  He  oft 
Frequented  their  assemblies,  whereso  met, 

Triumphs  or  festivals,  and  to  them  preached 
Conversion  and  repentance,  as  to  souls 
In  prison,  under  judgment  imminent. 

But  all  in  vain.  Which,  when  he  saw,  he  ceased 
Contending,  and  removed  his  tents  far  off. 

Then  from  the  mountain  hewing  timber  tall, 

Began  to  build  a  vessel  of  huge  hulk ; 

Measured  by  cubit,  length,  and  breadth,  and  height, 
Smeared  round  with  pitch,  and  in  the  side  a  door 
Contrived,  and  of  provisions  laid  in  large 
For  man  and  beast.  When,  lo  !  a  wonder  strange  ! 

Of  every  beast,  and  bird,  and  insect  small, 

Came  sevens  and  pairs,  and  entered  in,  as  taught 
Their  order.  Last,  the  sire  and  his  three  sons. 

With  their  four  wives,  and  God  made  fast  the  door. 
Meanwhile  the  south  wind  rose,  and,  with  black  wings 
Wide-hovering,  all  the  clouds  together  drove 
From  under  heaven  ;  the  hills  to  their  supply 
Vapour,  and  exhalation,  dusk  and  moist, 

Sent  up  amain.  And  now  the  thickened  sky 
Like  a  dark  ceiling  stood ;  down  rushed  the  rain 
Impetuous,  and  continued  till  the  earth 
No  more  was  seen  ;  the  floating  vessel  swum 
Uplifted,  and  secure,  with  beaked  prow, 

Bode  tilting  o’er  the  waves ;  all  dwellings  else 
Flood  overwhelmed,  and  them,  with  all  their  pomp. 
Deep  under  water  rolled ;  sea  covered  sea, 


290 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  XI.— 750-785 


Sea  without  shore,  and  in  their  palaces, 

Where  luxury  late  reigned,  sea  monsters  whelped 
And  stabled  :  of  mankind,  so  numerous  late, 

All  left  in  one  small  bottom  swum  embarked. 

How  didst  thou  grieve  then,  Adam,  to  behold 
The  end  of  all  thy  offspring,  end  so  sad, 

Depopulation  !  Thee,  another  flood, 

Of  tears  and  sorrow  a  flood,  thee  also  drowned, 

And  sunk  thee  as  thy  sons  ;  till,  gently  reared 
By  the  Angel,  on  thy  feet  thou  stood’st  at  last, 

Though  comfortless — as  when  a  father  mourns 
His  children,  all  in  viewr  destroyed  at  once  ; 

And  scarce  to  the  angel  uttered’st  thus  thy  plaint : 

0  visions  ill  foreseen !  better  had  I 
Lived  ignorant  of  future  :  so  had  borne 
My  part  of  evil  only,  each  day’s  lot 
Enough  to  hear.  Those  now,  that  were  dispensed 
The  burden  of  many  ages,  on  me  light 
At  once,  by  my  foreknowing  gaining  birth 
Abortive,  to  torment  me,  ere  their  being, 

With  thought  that  they  must  be.  Let  no  man  seek 
Henceforth  to  be  foretold  what  shall  befall 
Him  or  his  children ;  evil,  he  may  be  sure, 

Which  neither  his  foreknowing  can  prevent, 

And  he  -  the  future  evil  shall  no  less 
In  apprehension  than  in  substance  feel, 

Grievous  to  bear.  But  that  care  now  is  passed ; 

Man  is  not  whom  to  warn  ;  those  few  escaped, 

Famine  and  anguish  will  at  last  consume, 

Wandering  that  watery  desert.  I  had  hope, 

When  violence  was  ceased,  and  war  on  earth, 

All  would  have  then  gone  well ;  peace  would  have  crowned, 
With  length  of  happy  days,  the  race  of  man  ; 

But  I  was  far  deceived ;  for  now  I  see 
Peace  to  corrupt,  no  less  than  war  to  waste. 

How  comes  it  thus?  Unfold,  celestial  guide, 


Book  XI.— 786-821] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


291 


And  whether  here  the  race  of  man  will  end. 

To  whom  thus  Michael  :  Those,  whom  last  thou  sawest 
In  triumph  and  luxurious  wealth,  are  they 
First  seen  in  acts  of  prowess  eminent, 

And  great  exploits,  but  of  true  virtue  void, 

Who,  having  spilt  much  blood,  and  done  much  waste, 

Subduing  nations,  and  achieved  thereby 

Fame  in  the  world,  high  titles,  and  rich  prey, 

Shall  change  their  course  to  pleasure,  ease,  and  sloth, 
Surfeit,  and  lust ;  till  wantonness  and  pride 
Raise  out  of  friendship  hostile  deeds  in  peace. 

The  conquered,  also,  and  enslaved  by  war, 

Shall,  with  their  freedom  lost,  all  virtue  lose, 

And  fear  of  God,  from  whom  their  piety  feigned, 

In  sharp  contest  of  battle,  found  no  aid 
Against  invaders  ;  therefore,  cooled  in  zeal, 

Thenceforth  shall  practice  how  to  live  secure, 

Worldly  or  dissolute,  on  what  their  lords 

Shall  leave  them  to  enjoy ;  for  the  earth  shall  hear 

More  than  enough,  that  temperance  may  he  tried. 

So  all  shall  turn  degenerate,  all  depraved, 

Justice  anel  temperance,  truth  and  faith,  forgot ; 

One  man  except,  the  only  son  of  light 
In  a  dark  age,  against  example  good, 

Against  allurement,  custom,  and  a  world 
Olfended.  Fearless  of  reproach  or  scorn, 

Or  violence,  he  of  their  wicked  ways 

Shall  them  admonish  ;  and  before  them  set 

The  paths  of  righteousness,  how  much  more  safe, 

And  full  of  peace  ;  denouncing  wrath  to  come 
On  their  impenitence,  and  shall  return 
Of  them  derided.  But  of  God  observed, 

The  one  just  man  alive,  by  his  command 
Should  build  a  wondrous  ark,  as  thou  beheld’st, 

To  save  himself  and  household  from  amidst 
A  world  devote  to  universal  wrack. 


292 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  XI.-  822-857 


No  sooner  lie,  with  them  of  man  and  beast 
Select  for  life,  shall  in  the  ark  he  lodged, 

And  sheltered  round,  but  all  the  cataracts 
Of  heaven  set  open  on  the  earth  shall  pour 
Rain  day  and  night ;  all  fountains  of  the  deep, 

Broke  up,  shall  heave  the  ocean  to  usurp 
Beyond  all  bounds,  till  inundation  rise 
Above  the  highest  hills ;  then  shall  this  mount 
Of  Paradise  by  might  of  waves  he  moved 
Out  of  his  place,  pushed  by  the  horned  hood, 

With  all  his  verdure  spoiled,  and  trees  adrift, 

Down  the  great  river  to  the  opening  gulf, 

And  there  take  root,  an  island  salt  and  hare, 

The  haunt  of  seals,  and  ores,  and  sea-mews’  clang ; 

To  teach  thee  that  God  attributes  to  place 
No  sanctity,  if  none  he  thither  brought 
By  men  who  there  frequent,  or  therein  dwell ; 

And  now,  what  further  shall  ensue,  behold. 

He  looked,  and  saw  the  ark  hull  on  the  hood, 
Which  now  abated.  For  the  clouds  were  hed, 

Driven  by  a  keen  north  wind,  that,  blowing  dry, 
Wrinkled  the  face  of  deluge,  as  decayed ; 

And  the  clear  sun  on  his  wide  watery  glass 
Gazed  hot,  and  of  the  fresh  wave  largely  drew, 

As  after  thirst ;  which  made  their  flowing  shrink 
From  standing  lake  to  tripping  ebb,  that  stole, 

With  soft  foot,  towards  the  deep,  who  now  had  stopt 
His  sluices,  as  the  heaven  his  windows  shut. 

The  ark  no  more  now  floats,  hut  seems  on  ground, 
Fast  on  the  top  of  some  high  mountain  fixed. 

And  now  the  tops  of  hills,  as  rocks,  appear ; 

With  clamour  thence  the  rapid  currents  drive, 

Towards  the  retreating  sea,  their  furious  tide. 
Forthwith  from  out  the  ark  a  raven  flies ; 

And  after  him,  the  surer  messenger, 

A  dove,  sent  forth  once  and  again  to  spy 


Book  XI.— 858-893] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


293 


Green  tree  or  ground,  whereon  his  foot  may  light. 

The  second  time  returning,  in  his  bill 
An  olive  leaf  he  brings,  pacific  sign. 

Anon  dry  ground  appears,  and  from  his  ark 
The  ancient  sire  descends,  with  all  his  train  : 

Then,  with  uplifted  hands,  and  eyes  devout, 

Grateful  to  Heaven,  over  his  head  beholds 
A  dewy  cloud,  and  in  the  cloud  a  how 
Conspicuous,  with  three  listed  colours  gay, 

Betokening  peace  from  God,  and  covenant  new 
Whereat  the  heart  of  Adam,  erst  so  sad, 

Greatly  rejoiced,  and  thus  his  joy  broke  forth  : 

0  Thou,  who  future  things  canst  represent 
As  present,  heavenly  instructor,  I  revive 
At  this  last  sight ;  assured  that  man  shall  live, 

With  all  the  creatures,  and  their  seed  preserve. 

Far  less  I  now  lament  for  one  whole  world 
Of  wicked  sons  destroyed,  than  I  rejoice 
For  one  man  found  so  perfect,  and  so  just, 

That  God  vouchsafes  to  raise  another  world 
From  him,  and  all  his  anger  to  forget. 

But  say,  what  mean  those  coloured  streaks  in  heaven 
Distended,  as  the  brow  of  God  appeased  ? 

Or  serve  they,  as  a  flowery  verge,  to  hind 
The  fluid  skirts  of  that  same  watery  cloud, 

Lest  it  again  dissolve  and  shower  the  earth  ? 

To  whom  the  Archangel :  Dexterously  thou  aimest ; 
So  willingly  doth  God  remit  his  ire, 

Though  late  repenting  him  of  man  depraved  ; 

Grieved  at  his  heart,  when,  looking  down,  he  saw 
The  whole  earth  filled  with  violence,  and  nil  flesh 
Corrupting  each  their  way.  Yet,  those  removed, 

Such  grace  shall  one  just  man  find  in  his  sight, 

That  he  relents,  not  to  blot  out  mankind  ; 

And  makes  a  covenant,  never  to  destroy 
The  earth  again  by  flood,  nor  let  the  sea 


294 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  XI.— 894-901 


Surpass  his  bounds,  nor  rain  to  drown  the  world, 

With  man  therein  or  beast ;  hut  when  he  brings 
Over  the  earth  a  cloud,  will  therein  set 
His  triple-coloured  bow,  wdiereon  to  look 
And  call  to  mind  His  covenant.  Day  and  night, 
Seed-time  and  harvest,  heat  and  hoary  frost, 

Shall  hold  their  course,  till  fire  purge  all  things  new, 
Both  heaven  and  earth,  wherein  the  just  shall  dwell. 


BOOK  XII. 


The  Angel  Michael  continues,  from  the  flood,  to  relate  what  shad  succeed;  then  in  the  mention  of  Abraham, 
comes  by  degrees  to  explain  who  that  seed  of  the  woman  shall  be  which  was  promised  Adam  and  Eve  in  the 
fall:  His  incarnation,  death,  resurrection,  and  ascension ;  the  state  of  the  Church  till  his  second  coming. 
Adam,  greatly  satisfied  and  recomforted  by  these  relations  and  promises,  descends  the  hill  with  Michael ; 
wakens  Eve,  who  all  this  while  had  slept,  but  with,  gentle  dreams  composed  to  quietness  of  mind  and  sub¬ 
mission.  Michael,  in  either  hand  leads  them  out  of  Paradise,  the  fiery  sword  waving  behind  them,  and  the 
cherubim  taking  their  stations  to  guard  the  place. 

/VS  one  who,  in  his  journey,  bates  at  noon, 

Though  bent  on  speed,  so  here  the  Archangel  paused 
Betwixt  the  world  destroyed  and  world  restored, 

If  Adam  aught,  perhaps,  might  interpose; 

Then,  with  transition  sweet,  new  speech  resumes : 

Thus  thou  hast  seen  one  world  begin,  and  end, 

And  man,  as  from  a  second  stock,  proceed. 

Much  thou  hast  yet  to  see ;  hut  I  perceive 
Thy  mortal  sight  to  fail  ;  objects  divine 
Must  needs  impair  and  weary  human  sense, 

Henceforth  what  is  to  come  I  will  relate  ; 

Thou,  therefore,  give  due  audience,  and  attend  : 

This  second  source  of  men,  while  yet  hut  few. 

And  while  the  dread  of  judgment  past  remains 
Fresh  in  their  minds,  fearing  the  Deity, 

With  some  regard  to  what  is  just  and  right 
Shall  lead  their  lives,  and  multiply  apace, 

Labouring  the  soil,  and  reaping  plenteous  crops, 

Corn,  wine,  and  oil ;  and,  from  the  herd  or  flock, 

Oft  sacrificing  bullock,  lamb,  or  kid, 

With  large  wine-offerings  poured,  and  sacred  feast, 

Shall  spend  their  days  in  joy  unblamed,  and  dwell 
Long  time  in  peace,  by  families  and  tribes, 

Under  paternal  rule ;  till  one  shall  rise,1 


1  Till  one  shall  rise. — 

hunter  be  fore  the  Lord  : 


“And  Cush  begat  Nimrod:  he  began  to  be  a  mighty  one  in  the  earth.  He  was  a  mighty 
and  the  beginning  of  his  kingdom  was  Babel,  in  the  land  of  Shinar.”  (Gen.  x.  8-10. ) 


296 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  XII.— 25-60 


Of  proud,  ambitious  heart,  who,  not  content 
With  fair  equality,  fraternal  state, 

Will  arrogate  dominion  undeserved 
Over  his  brethren,  and  quite  dispossess 
Concord  and  law  of  nature  from  the  earth  : 

Hunting, — and  men,  not  beasts,  shall  be  his  game, — 
With  war,  and  hostile  snare,  such  as  refuse 
Subjection  to  his  empire  tyrannous  ! 

A  mighty  hunter  thence  he  shall  be  styled 
Before  the  Lord,  as,  in  despite  of  Heaven, 

Or  from  Heaven,  claiming  second  sovereignty; 

And  from  rebellion  shall  derive  his  name, 

Though  of  rebellion  others  he  accuse. 

He,  with  a  crew,  whom  like  ambition  joins, 

With  him,  or  under  him,  to  tyrannise, 

Marching  from  Eden  towards  the  west,  shall  find 
The  plain,  wherein  a  black,  bituminous  gurge 
Boils  out  from  under  ground,  the  mouth  of  Hell. 

Of  brick,  and  of  that  stuff,  they  cast  to  build 
A  city  and  tower,  whose  top  may  reach  to  heaven, 

And  get  themselves  a  name  lest,  far  dispersed 
In  foreign  lands,  their  memory  be  lost : 

Regardless  whether  good  or  evil  fame. 

But  God,  who  oft  descends  to  visit  men 
Unseen,  and  through  their  habitations  walks 
To  mark  their  doings,  them  beholding  soon, 

Comes  down  to  see  their  city,  ere  the  tower 
Obstruct  Heaven-towers,  and  in  derision  sets 
Upon  their  tongues  a  various  spirit,  to  rase 
Quite  out  their  native  language,  and,  instead, 

To  sow  a  jangling  noise  of  words  unknown. 

Forthwith  a  hideous  gabble  rises  loud 
Among  the  builders ;  each  to  other  calls, 

Aot  understood,  till  hoarse,  and  all  in  rage, 

As  mocked  they  storm.  Great  laughter  was  in  Heaven, 
And  looking  down  to  see  the  hubbub  strange, 


Book  XII.— 61.-92] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


297 


And  hear  the  din.  Tims  was  the  building  left 
Ridiculous,  and  the  work  Confusion  named.1 

Whereto  thus  Adam,  fatherly  displeased  • 

0  execrable  son !  so  to  aspire 

Above  his  brethren ;  to  himself  assuming 

Authority  usurped,  from  God  not  given. 

He  gave  us  only  over  beast,  fish,  fowl, 

Dominion  absolute  ;  that  right  we  hold 
By  his  donation,  but  man  over  men 
He  made  not  lord ;  such  title  to  Himself 
Reserving,  human  left  for  human  free. 

But  this  usurper  his  encroachment  proud 
Stays  not  on  man ;  to  God  his  tower  intends 
Siege  and  defiance  !  Wretched  man !  what  food 
Will  he  convey  up  thither,  to  sustain 
Himself  and  his  rash  army,  where  thin  air 
Above  the  clouds,  will  pine  his  entrails  gross, 
And  famish  him  of  breath,  if  not  of  bread  ? 

To  whom  thus  Michael  :  Justly  thou  abhor’st 
That  son,  who  on  the  quiet  state  of  men 
Such  trouble  brought,  affecting  to  subdue 
Rational  liberty ;  yet  know  withal, 

Since  thy  original  lapse,  true  liberty 

Is  lost,  which  always  with  right  reason  dwells, 

Twinned,  and  from  her  hath  no  dividual  being. 

Reason  in  man  obscured,  or  not  obeyed, 

Immediately  inordinate  desires 

And  upstart  passions  catch  the  government 

From  reason,  and  to  servitude  reduce 

Man,  till  then  free.  Therefore,  since  he  permits, 

Within  himself,  unworthy  powers  to  reign 

Over  free  reason,  God,  in  judgment  just, 


*  The  work  Confusion  named. — “And  it  came  to  pass  as  they  journeyed  from  the  east,  that  they  found  a  plain  in 
the  valley  of  Shinar  ;  and  they  dwelt  there.  And  they  said,  Go  to,  let  us  make  brick,  and  burn  them  thoroughly. 
And  they  had  brick  for  stone,  and  slime  had  they  for  mortar.  And  they  said,  Go  to,  let  us  build  us  a  city  and  a  tower, 
whose  top  may  reach  unto  heaven  ;  and  let  us  make  us  a  name,  lest  we  be  scattered  abroad  upon  the  face  of  the  whole 
earth.  .  .  .  And  the  Lord  came  down  to  see  the  city  and  tower,”  &c.,  &c.  (Gen.  xi.  2,  et  seq.) 


298 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  XII.— 93-126 


Subjects  him  from  without  to  violent  lords, 

Who  oft  as  undeservedly  enthral 

His  outward  freedom.  Tyranny  must  be, 

Though  to  the  tyrant  thereby  no  excuse. 

Yet  sometimes  nations  will  decline  so  low 
From  virtue,  which  is  reason,  that  no  wrong, 

But  justice,  and  some  fatal  curse  annexed 
Deprives  them  of  their  outward  liberty, 

Their  inward  loss.  Witness  the  irreverent  son 
Of  him  who  built  the  ark.  who,  for  the  shame, 

Done  to  his  father,  heard  this  heavy  curse, 

Servant  of  servants,  on  his  vicious  race. 

Thus  will  this  latter,  as  the  former,  world, 

Still  tend  from  bad  to  worse,  till  God,  at  last, 
Wearied  with  their  iniquities,  withdraw 
His  presence  from  among  them,  and  avert 
His  holy  eyes,  resolving  from  thenceforth 
To  leave  -.them  to  their  own  polluted  ways, 

And  one  peculiar  nation  to  select 

From  all  the  rest,  of  whom  to  be  invoked, 

A  nation  from  one  faithful  man  to  spring  : 

Him  on  this  side  Euphrates  yet  residing, 

Bred  up  in  idol  worship.  0  that  men — 

Canst  thou  believe  ? — should  be  so  stupid  grown, 
While  yet  the  patriarch  lived  who  ’scaped  the  flood, 
As  to  forsake  the  living  God,  and  fall 
To  worship  their  own  work  in  wood  and  stone 
For  gods  !  Yet  him,  God  the  Most  High  vouchsafes 
To  call,  by  vision,  from  his  father’s  house, 

His  kindred,  aud  false  gods,  into  a  land 

Which  He  will  show  him  ;  and  from  him  will  raise 

A  mighty  nation,  and  upon  him  shower 

His  benediction  so,  that  in  his  seed 

All  nations  shall  be  blest.1  He  straight  obeys, 


1  In  his  seed  all  nations  shall  he  blest. —  “Now  thee  Lord  had  said  unto  Abram,  Get  the  out  of  thy  country,  and  from 
thy  kindred,  and  from  thy  father’s  house,  unto  a  laud  that  I  will  shew  thee.  And  I  will  make  of  thee  a  great  nation, 
and  in  thee  shall  all  the  families  of  the  earth  be  blessed.”  (Gen.  xii.  1,  2.) 


Book  XII.— 127-159] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


299 


Not  knowing  to  what  land,  yet  firm  believes. 

I  see  him,  but  thou  canst  not,  with  what  faith 
He  leaves  his  gods,  his  friends,  and  native  soil, 

Ur  of  Chaldea,  passing  now  the  ford 
To  Haran  ;  after  him  a  cumbrous  train 
Of  herds  and  flocks,  and  numerous  servitude ; 

Not  wandering  poor,  but  trusting  all  his  wealth 
With  God,  who  called  him,  in  a  land  unknown. 
Canaan  he  now  attains.  I  see  his  tents 
Pitched  about  Secliem,  and  the  neighbouring  plain 
Of  Moreh.  There,  by  promise,  he  receives 
Gift  to  his  progeny  of  all  that  land, 

From  Hamath,  northward  to  the  desert  south — 
Things  by  their  names  I  call,  though  yet  unnamed — 
From  Herraon  east,  to  the  great  western  sea ; 

Mount  Hermon,  yonder  sea  ;  each  place  behold 
In  prospect,  as  I  point  them.  On  the  shore, 

Mount  Carmel;  here,  the  double-founted  stream,1 
Jordan,  true  limit  eastward ;  but  his  sons 
Shall  dwell  to  Senir,2  that  long  ridge  of  hills. 

This  ponder,  that  all  nations  of  the  earth 
Shall  in  his  seed  be  blessed.  By  that  seed 
Is  meant  thy  great  Deliverer,  who  shall  bruise 
The  Serpent’s  head ;  whereof  to  thee  anon 
Plainlier  shall  be  revealed.  This  patriarch  blest, 
Whom  faithful  Abraham  due  time  shall  call, 

A  son,  and  of  his  son  a  grandchild,  leaves, 

Like  him  in  faith,  in  wisdom,  and  renown. 

The  grandchild,  with  twelve  sons  increased,  departs 
From  Canaan  to  a  land  hereafter  called 
Egypt,  divided  by  the  river  Nile. 

See  where  it  flows,  disgorging  at  seven  mouths 
Into  the  sea  :  to  sojourn  in  that  land 


1  The  double-founted  stream. — The  Jordan  has  its  origin  in  two  fountains  or  springs— the  one  about  twenty  miles 
north  of  Csesarea  Philippi,  the  other  about  eighteen  miles  south  of  that  spot. 

8  Senir. — The  Amorities  gave  this  name  to  Mount  Hermon. 


soo 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  XII.— 160-195 


He  comes,  invited  by  a  younger  son 

In  time  of  dearth — a  son,  whose  worthy  deeds 

Raise  him  to  be  the  second  in  that  realm 

Of  Pharaoh.  There  he  dies,  and  leaves  his  race 

Growing  into  a  nation.  And,  now  grown 

Suspected  to  a  sequent  king,  who  seeks 

To  stop  their  overgrowth,  as  inmate  guests 

Too  numerous ;  whence  of  guests  he  makes  them  slaves, 

Inhospitably ;  and  kills  their  infant  males : 

Till  by  two  brethren — those  two  brethren  call 
Moses  and  Aaron — sent  from  God  to  claim 
His  people  from  enthrallment,  they  return, 

With  glory  and  spoil,  back  to  their  promised  land. 

But  first,  the  lawless  tyrant,  who  denies 
To  know  their  God,  or  message  to  regard, 

Must  be  compelled  by  signs  and  judgments  dire. 

To  blood  unshed  the  rivers  must  be  turned ; 

Frogs,  lice,  and  flies,  must  all  his  palace  fill 
With  loathed  intrusion,  and  fill  all  the  land ; 

His  cattle  must  of  rot  and  murrain  die  ; 

Botches  and  blains  must  all  his  flesh  emboss, 

And  all  his  people ;  thunder  mixed  with  hail, 

Hail  mixed  with  fire,  must  rend  the  Egyptian  sky, 

And  wheel  on  the  earth,  devouring  where  it  rolls ; 

What  it  devours  not,  herb,  or  fruit,  or  grain, 

A  darksome  cloud  of  locusts  swarming  down 
Must  eat,  and  on  the  ground  leave  nothing  green ; 
Darkness  must  overshadow  all  his  bounds, 

Palpable  darkness,  and  blot  out  three  days; 

Last,  with  one  midnight  stroke,  all  the  first-born 
Of  Egypt  must  lie  dead.  Thus,  with  ten  wounds 
The  river-dragon,  tamed,  at  length  submits 
To  let  his  sojourners  depart,  and  oft 
Humbles  his  stubborn  heart,  but  still  as  ice 
More  hardened  after  thaw  !  till,  in  his  rage 
Fursuing  whom  he  late  dismissed,  the  sea 


Book  XII.— 196-228] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


301 


Swallows  him  with  his  host,  but  them  lets  pass, 

As  on  dry  land,  between  two  crystal  walls  ; 

Awed  by  the  rod  of  Moses  so  to  stand 
Divided,  till  his  rescued  gain  their  shore  : 

Such  wondrous  power  God  to  his  saint  will  lend, 
Though  present  in  his  Angel,  who  shall  go 
Before  them  in  a  cloud,  and  pillar  of  fire ; 

By  day  a  cloud,  by  night  a  pillar  of  fire ; 

To  guide  them  in  their  journey,  and  remove 
Behind  them,  while  the  obdurate  king  pursues. 

All  night  he  will  pursue,  but  his  approach 
Darkness  defends  between  till  morning  watch  ;* 

Then  through  the  fiery  pillar  and  the  cloud, 

God,  looking  forth,  will  trouble  all  his  host, 

And  craze  their  chariot-wheels  ;  when,  by  command, 
Moses  once  more  his  potent  rod  extends 
Over  the  sea  ;  the  sea  his  rod  obeys ; 

On  their  embattled  ranks  the  waves  return, 

And  overwhelm  their  war.  The  race  elect 
Safe  towards  Canaan,  from  the  shoie,  advance 
Through  the  wild  desert ;  not  the  readiest  way, 

Lest,  entering  on  the  Canaanite  alarmed, 

War  terrify  them,  inexpert,  and  fear 
Return  them  hack  to  Egypt,  choosing  rathei 
Inglorious  life  with  servitude.  For  life, 

To  noble  and  ignoble,  is  more  sweet 
Untrained  in  arms,  where  rashness  leads  not  on. 

This  also  shall  they  gain  by  their  delay 
In  the  wide  wilderness  ;  there  they  shall  found 
Their  government,  and  their  great  senate  choose 
Through  the  twelve  tribes,  to  rule  by  laws  ordained  ; 
God,  from  the  mount  of  Sinai,  whose  grey  top 
Shall  tremble,  He  descending,  will  Himself, 


1  Till  morning  watch. — “And  it  came  to  pass,  that  in  the  morning  watch  the  Lord  looked  unto  the  host  of  the 
Egyptians  through  the  pillar  of  fire  and  of  the  cloud,  and  troubled  the  host  of  the  Egyptians,  and  took  off  their  chariot 
wheels,  so  that  they  drave  heavily,”  &c.,  &c.  (Exod.  xiv.  24 — 28.) 


302 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  XII.-  229  263 


In  thunder,  lightning,  and  loud  trumpets’  sound, 
Ordain  them  laws ;  part,  such  as  appertain 
To  civil  justice ;  part,  religious  rites 
Of  sacrifice  ;  informing  them,  hy  types 
And  shadows,  of  that  destined  Seed  to  hruise 
The  Serpent,  by  what  means  He  shall  achieve 
Mankind’s  deliverance.  But  the  voice  of  God 
To  mortal  ear  is  dreadful :  they  beseech 
That  Moses  might  report  to  them  his  will, 

And  terror  cease.  He  grants  what  they  besought, 
Instructed  that  to  God  is  no  access 
Without  mediator,  whose  high  office  now 
Moses  in  figure  bears,  to  introduce 
One  greater,  of  whose  day  he  shall  foretell, 

And  all  the  prophets  in  their  age,  the  times 
Of  great  Messiah  shall  sing.  Thus,  laws  and  rites 
Established,  such  delight  hath  God  in  men 
Obedient  to  his  will,  that  he  vouchsafes 
Among  them  to  set  up  his  tabernacle — 

The  Holy  One  with  mortal  men  to  dwell : 

By  his  prescript  a  sanctuary  is  framed 
Of  cedar,  overlaid  with  gold  ;  therein 
An  ark,  and  in  the  ark  his  testimony, 

The  records  of  his  covenant ;  over  these 
A  mercy-seat  of  gold,  between  the  wings 
Of  two  bright  cherubim ;  before  him  burn 
Seven  lamps,  as  in  a  zodiac,  representing 
The  heavenly  fires  ;  over  the  tent  a  cloud 
Shall  rest  by  day,  a  fiery  gleam  hy  night, 

Save  when  they  journey,  and  at  length  they  come, 
Conducted  by  his  Angel,1  to  the  land 
Promised  to  Abraham  and  his  seed.  The  rest 
Were  long  to  tell;  how  many  battles  fought; 

How  many  kings  destroyed,  and  kingdoms  won  ; 

Or  how  the  sun  shall  in  mid  heaven  stand  still 


1  Conducted  by  his  Angel. — “For  my  angel  shall  go  before  thee,  and  bring  thee,”  &c. 


49 


They  beseech 

That  Moses  might  report  to  them  his  will 

And  terror  cease.  M  xn%  lines  a36_238. 


Book  XII.— 264-297] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


303 


A  day  entire,  and  night’s  due  course  adjourn, 

Man’s  voice  commanding,  Sun,  in  Gibeon  stand, 

And  thou,  moon,  in  the  vale  of  Ajalon, 

Till  Israel  overcome ! — So  call  the  third 
From  Abraham,  son  of  Isaac  ;  and  from  him 
His  whole  descent,  who  thus  shall  Canaan  win. 

Here  Adam  interposed  :  0  sent  from  Heaven 
Enlightener  of  my  darkness,  gracious  things 
Thou  hast  revealed,  those  chiefly  which  concern 
Just  Abraham  and  his  seed.  Now  first  I  find 
Mine  eyes  true  opening,  and  my  heart  much  eased, 

Erewhile  perplexed  with  thoughts,  what  would  become 
Of  me  and  all  mankind  ;  but  now  I  see 
His  day,  in  whom  all  nations  shall  be  blest ; 

Favour  unmerited  by  me,  who  sought 
Forbidden  knowledge  by  forbidden  means. 

This  yet  I  apprehend  not ;  why  to  those 
Among  whom  God  will  deign  to  dwell  on  earth. 

So  many  and  so  various  laws  are  given  ? 

So  many  laws  argue  so  many  sins 

Among  them  ;  how  can  God  with  such  reside  ? 

To  whom  thus  Michael :  Doubt  not  but  that  sin 
Will  reign  among  them,  as  of  thee  begot ; 

And,  therefore,  was  law  given  them,  to  evince 
Their  natural  pravity,  by  stirring  up 
Sin  against  law1  to  fight ;  that  when  they  see 
Law  can  discover  sin,  but  not  remove, 

Save  by  those  shadowy  expiations  weak, 

The  blood  of  bulls  and  goats,  they  may  conclude 
Some  blood  more  precious  must  be  paid  for  man ; 

Just  for  unjust ;  that  in  such  righteousness, 

To  them  by  faith  imputed,  they  may  find 
Justification  towards  God,  and  peace 
Of  conscience,  which  the  law  by  ceremonies 

1 Stirring  up  sin  against  law.  —  “The  law  entered  that  the  offence  might  abound.”  (Rom  v.  20.)  “By  the  law  is 
the  knowledge  of  sin.”  (Rom.  iii.  20.) 


304 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  XII.- 298 -332 


Cannot  appease,  nor  man  the  moral  part 
Perform,  and,  not  performing,  cannot  live. 

So  law  appears  imperfect,  and  but  given 
With  purpose  to  resign  them,  in  full  time, 

Up  to  a  better  covenant,  disciplined 
Prom  shadowy  types  to  truth,  from  flesh  to  spirit, 
From  imposition  of  strict  laws  to  free 
Acceptance  of  large  grace,  from  servile  fear 
To  filial — works  of  law  to  works  of  faith. 

And,  therefore,  shall  not  Moses,  though  of  God 
Highly  beloved,  being  but  the  minister 
Of  law,  his  people  into  Canaan  lead  ; 

But  Joshua,  whom  the  Gentiles  Jesus  call,1 
His  name  and  office  bearing,  who  shall  quell 
The  adversary  Serpent,  and  bring  back, 

Through  the  world’s  wilderness,  long-wandered  Man 
Safe  to  eternal  Paradise  of  rest. 

Meanwhile  they,  in  their  earthly  Canaan  placed, 
Long  time  shall  dwell  and  prosper,  but  when  sins 
National  interrupt  their  public  peace, 

Provoking  God  to  raise  them  enemies ; 

From  whom  as  oft  he  saves  them  penitent, 

By  Judges  first,  then  under  Kings  ;  of  whom 

The  second,  both  for  piety  renowned 

And  puissant  deeds,  a  promise  shall  receive 

Irrevocable,  that  his  regal  throne 

For  ever  shall  endure.  The  like  shall  sing: 

All  prophecy,  that  of  the  royal  stock 
Of  David — so  I  name  this  king: — shall  rise 
A  son,  the  Woman’s  Seed  to  thee  foretold, 
Foretold  to  Abraham,  as  in  whom  shall  trust 
All  nations  :  and  to  kings  foretold,  of  kings 
The  last — for  of  His  reign  shall  be  no  end. 

But  first,  a  long  succession  must  ensue ; 

And  his  next  son,  for  wealth  and  wisdom  famed, 


The  Gentiles  Jesus  call.  — The  Septuagint  always  gives  this  name  to  Joshua  {{r/6ov%'). 


Book  XII.-333-366] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


30f» 


The  clouded  ark  of  God,  till  then  in  tents 
Wandering,  shall  in  a  glorious  temple  enshrine. 

Such  follow  him  as  shall  he  registered 

Part  good,  part  bad ;  of  bad  the  longer  scroll ; 

Whose  foul  idolatries,  and  other  faults, 

Heaped  to  the  popular  sum,  will  so  incense 
God,  as  to  leave  them,  and  expose  their  land, 

Their  city,  his  temple,  and  his  holy  ark, 

With  all  his  sacred  things,  a  scorn  and  prey 
To  that  proud  city,  whose  high  walls  thou  sawest 
Left  in  confusion — Babylon  thence,  called. 

There  in  captivity  he  lets  them  dwell 

The  space  of  seventy  years ;  then  brings  them  back, 

Remembering  mercy,  and  his  covenant  sworn 

To  David,  ’stablished  as  the  days  of  heaven. 

Returned  from  Babylon  by  leave  of  kings, 

Their  lords,  whom  God  disposed,  the  house  of  God 
They  first  re-edify,  and  for  a  while 
In  mean  estate  live  moderate,  till,  grown 
In  wealth  and  multitude,  factious  they  grow, 

But  first  among  the  priests  dissension  springs 
Men  who  attend  the  altar,  and  should  most 
Endeavour  peace.  Their  strife  pollution  brings 
Upon  the  temple  itself.  At  last  they  seize 
The  sceptre,  and  regard  not  David’s  sons ; 

Then  lose  it  to  a  stranger,  that  the  true 
Anointed  king,  Messiah,  might  be  born 
Barred  of  his  right.  Yet  at  his  birth  a  star, 

Uuseen  before  in  heaven,  proclaims  him  come, 

And  guides  the  eastern  sages,  who  inquire 
His  place,  to  offer  incense,  myrrh,  and  gold : 

His  place  of  birth  a  solemn  angel  tells 
To  simple  shepherds,  keeping  watch  by  night ; 

They  gladly  thither  haste,  and  by  a  quire 


1  Among  the -priests  dissension  springs. — This  is  a  reference  to  the  struggle  for  the  high  priesthood  between  Jason 
and  Menelaus.  in  the  time  of  Antiochus  Epiphanes;  and  later  between  Aristobulus  and  Hyrcanus.  Aristobulus  united 
the  kingly  and  priestly  office  in  his  person. 


306 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[Book  XIL— 367-401 


Of  squadroned  angels  hear  his  carol  sung. 

A  Virgin  is  his  mother,  hut  his  sire 

The  power  of  the  Most  High.  He  shall  ascend 

The  throne  hereditary,  and  bound  his  reign 

With  earth’s  wide  bounds,  his  glory  with  the  heavens. 

He  ceased ;  discerning  Adam,  with  such  joy 
Surcharged,  as  had,  like  grief,  been  dewed  in  tears, 
Without,  the  vent  of  words  ;  which  these  he  breathed  : 

0  prophet  of  glad  tidings,  finisher 
Of  utmost  hope  !  now  clear  I  understand 
What  oft  my  steadiest  thoughts  have  searched  in  vain ; 
Why  our  great  Expectation  should  he  called 
The  Seed  of  Woman  :  Virgin  Mother,  hail ! 

High  in  the  love  of  Heaven ;  yet  from  my  loins 
Thou  shalt  proceed,  and  from  thy  womb  the  Son 
Of  God  Most  High ;  so  God  with  man  unites. 

Needs  must  the  Serpent  now  his  capital  bruise 
Expect  with  mortal  pain  ;  say  where  and  when 
Their  fight;  what  stroke  shall  bruise  the  Victor’s  heel? 

To  whom  thus  Michael :  Dream  not  of  their  fight. 
As  of  duel,  or  the  local  wounds 
Of  head  or  heel ;  not,  therefore,  joins  the  Son 
Manhood  to  Godhead,  with  more  strength  to  foil 
Thy  enemy ;  nor  so  is  overcome 
Satan,  whose  fall  from  heaven,  a  deadlier  bruise, 

Disabled  not  to  give  thee  thy  death’s  wound ; 

Which  He,  who  comes  thy  Saviour,  shall  re-cure, 

Not  by  destroying  Satan,  but  his  works 
In  thee,  and  in  thy  seed:  nor  can  this  be„ 

But  by  fulfilling  that  which  thou  didst  want, 

Obedience  to  the  law  of  God,  imposed 
On  penalty  of  death ;  and  suffering  death, 

The  penalty  to  thy  transgression  due, 

And  due  to  theirs,  which  out  of  thine  will  grow  ; 

So  only  can  high  justice  rest  appaid.1 


1  Appaid. — Paid  ;  appagato ,  Italian. 


Book  XII.— 402-437] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


307 


The  law  of  God  exact  he  shall  fulfil, 

Both  by  obedience  and  by  love,  though  love 
Alone  fulfil  the  law ;  thy  punishment 
He  shall  endure,  by  coming  in  the  flesh 
To  a  reproachful  life  and  cursed  death ; 

Proclaiming  life  to  all  who  shall  believe 
In  his  redemption,  and  that  his  obedience, 

Imputed,  becomes  theirs  by  faith ;  His  merits 
To  save  them,  not  their  own,  though  legal,  works. 

For  this  he  shall  live  hated,  be  blasphemed, 

Seized  on  by  force,  judged,  and  to  death  condemned, 
A  shameful  and  accursed,  nailed  to  the  cross 
By  his  own  nation ;  slain  for  bringing  life. 

But  to  the  cross  He  nails  thy  enemies, 

The  law  that  is  against  thee,  and  the  sins 
Of  all  mankind  with  him  there  crucified, 

Never  to  hurt  them  more  who  rightly  trust 
In  this  his  satisfaction.  So  he  dies, 

But  soon  revives ;  death  over  Him  no  power 
Shall  long  usurp.  Ere  the  third  dawning  light 
Return,  the  stars  of  morn  shall  see  him  rise 

Out  of  his  grave,  fresh  as  the  dawning  light, 

Thy  ransom  paid,  which  man  from  death  redeems, 

His  death  for  man,  as  many  as  offered  life 
Neglect  not,  and  the  benefit  embrace 
By  faith  not  void  of  works.  This  Godlike  act 
Annuls  thy  doom,  the  death  thou  shouldst  have  died, 
In  sin  for  ever  lost  from  life ;  this  act 

Shall  bruise*  the  head  of  Satan,  crush  his  strength, 
Defeating  Sin  and  Death,  his  two  main  arms, 

And  fix  far  deeper  in  his  head  their  stings 
Than  temporal  death  shall  bruise  the  Victor’s  heel, 

Or  theirs  whom  he  redeems — a  death  like  sleep, 

A  gentle  wafting  to  immortal  life. 

Nor  after  resurrection  shall  he  stay 

Longer  on  earth  than  certain  times  to  appear 


308 


PARADISE  LOST. 


[BOOK  XII.- 438-471 


To  his  disciples,  men  who  in  his  life 

Still  followed  him;  to  them  shall  leave  in  charge 

To  teach  all  nations  what  of  him  they  learned, 

And  his  salvation ;  them  who  shall  believe 
Baptising  in  the  profluent  stream,1  the  sign 
Of  washing  them  from  guilt  of  sin  to  life 
Pure,  and  in  mind  prepared,  if  so  befall, 

For  death,  like  that  which  the  Redeemer  died. 

All  nations  they  shall  teach :  for,  from  that  day, 

Not  only  to  the  sons  of  Abraham’s  loins 
Salvation  shall  he  preached,  hut  to  the  sons 
Of  Abraham’s  faith  wherever  through  the  world  ; 

So  in  his  seed  all  nations  shall  he  blest. 

Then  to  the  Heaven  of  heavens  he  shall  ascend 
With  victory,  triumphing  through  the  air, 

Over  his  foes  and  thine ;  there  shall  surprise 
The  Serpent,  prince  of  air,  and  drag  in  chains 
Through  all  his  realm,  and  there  confounded  leave ; 

Then  enter  into  glory,  and  resume 

His  seat  at  God’s  right  hand,  exalted  high 

Above  all  names  in  Heaven  ;  and  thence  shall  come, 

When  this  world’s  dissolution  shall  be  ripe, 

With  glory  and  power,  to  judge  both  quick  and  dead ; 
To  judge  the  unfaithful  dead,  but  to  reward 
His  faithful,  and  receive  them  into  bliss, 

Whether  in  heaven  or  earth ;  for  then  the  earth, 

Shall  all  be  Paradise,  far  happier  place 
Than  this  of  Eden,  and  far  happier  days. 

So  spake  the  Archangel  Michael ;  then  paused, 

As  at  the  world’s  great  period ;  and  our  sire, 

Replete  with  joy  and  wonder,  thus  replied: 

0  Goodness  infinite,  Goodness  immense  ! 

That  all  this  good  of  evil  shall  produce, 

And  evil  turn  to  good ;  more  wonderful 


’  Profluent  stream.—  Milton  seems  to  have  thought  that  baptism  should  be  administered  in  runnin'1',  not  in  stag¬ 
nant  water.  b 


Book  XII.— 472-507] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


309 


Than  that  which  by  creation  first  brought  forth 
Light  out  of  darkness !  Full  of  doubt  I  stand, 

Whether  I  should  repent  me  now  of  sin 

By  me  done,  and  occasioned,  or  rejoice 

Much  more,  that  much  more  good  thereof  shall  spring ; 

To  God  more  glory,  more  good-will  to  men 

From  God,  and  over  wrath  grace  shall  abound. 

But  say,  if  our  Deliverer  up  to  Heaven 
Must  reascend,  what  will  betide  the  few, 

His  faithful,  left  among  the  unfaithful  herd, 

The  enemies  of  truth  ?  Who,  then,  shall  guide 
His  people — who  defend  ?  Will  they  not  deal 
Worse  with  His  followers  than  with  Him  they  dealt? 

Be  sure  they  will,  said  the  Angel ;  but  from  Heaven 
He  to  his  own  a  Comforter  will  send, 

The  promise  of  the  Father,  who  shall  dwell 
His  Spirit  within  them  ;  and  the  law  of  faith, 

Working  through  love,  upon  their  hearts  shall  write 
To  guide  them  in  all  truth,  and  also  arm 
With  spiritual  armour  able  to  resist 
Satan’s  assaults,  and  quench  his  fiery  darts ; 

What  man  can  do  against  them,  not  afraid, 

Though  to  the  death  ;  against  such  cruelties 
With  inward  consolations  recompensed, 

And  oft  supported  so  as  shall  amaze 
Their  proudest  persecutors  ;  for  the  Spirit, 

Poured  first  on  his  apostles,  whom  he  sends 
To  evangelise  the  nations,  then  on  all 
Baptised,  shall  them  with  wondrous  gifts  endue 
To  speak  all  tongues,  and  do  all  miracles, 

As  did  their  Lord  before  them.  Thus  they  win 
Great  numbers  of  each  nation  to  receive 
With  joy  the  tidings  brought  from  Heaven  :  at  length, 
Their  ministry  performed,  and  race  well  run, 

Their  doctrine  and  their  story  written  left, 

They  die  ;  but  in  their  room,  as  they  forewarn, 


310 


PARADISE  LOST 


[Book  XII.— 508-541 


Wolves  shall  succeed  for  teachers,  grievous  wolves 
Who  all  the  sacred  mysteries  of  Heaven 
To  their  own  vile  advantages  shall  turn, 

Of  lucre  and  ambition,  and  the  truth 
With  superstitions  and  traditions  taint, 

Left  only  in  those  written  records  pure, 

Though  not  but  by  the  Spirit  understood.1 

Then  shall  they  seek  to  avail  themselves  of  names, 

Places,  and  titles,  and  with  these  to  join 

Secular  power,  though  feigning  still  to  act 

By  spiritual,  to  themselves  appropriating 

The  Spirit  of  God,  promised  alike,  and  given 

To  all  believers  ;  and  from  that  pretence, 

Spiritual  laws  by  carnal  power  shall  force 
On  every  conscience ;  laws  which  none  shall  find 
Left  them  enrolled,2  or  what  the  spirit  within 
Shall  on  the  heart  engrave.  What  will  they,  then, 
But  force  the  Spirit  of  Grace  itself,  and  bind 
His  consort  Liberty  ?  What  but  unbuild 
His  living  temples,  built  by  faith  to  stand, 

Their  own  faith,  not  another’s  ?  For,  on  earth, 

Who  against  faith  and  conscience  can  be  heard 
Infallible  ?  Yet  many  will  presume  : 

Whence  heavy  persecution  shall  arise 
On  all  who  in  the  worship  persevere 
Of  spirit  and  truth  ;  the  rest,  far  greater  part, 

Will  deem  in  outward  rites  and  specious  forms 
Religion  satisfied ;  truth  shall  retire 
Bestuck  with  slanderous  darts,  and  works  of  faith 
Barely  be  found.  So  shall  the  world  go  on, 

To  good  malignant,  to  bad  men  benign, 

Under  her  own  weight  groaning,  till  the  day 
Appear  of  respiration  to  the  just, 

And  vengeance  to  the  wicked,  at  return 


1  1  hough  not  but  by  the  Spirit  understood. — One  of  many  passages  which  showed  that  Milton  believed  in  Divine  in¬ 
fluence  as  a  teaching  power  in  man.  Not  an  influence  to  render  one  man  infallible  against  another,  but  tending  to 
general  enlightenment  when  rationally  understood. 

4  Left  them  enrolled. — Left  written,  written  in  the  Scriotures. 


Book  XII.— 542-578] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


311 


Of  Him  so  lately  promised  to  thy  aid, 

The  woman’s  Seed ;  obscurely  then  foretold, 

Now  ampler  known  thy  Saviour  and  thy  Lord ; 

Last,  in  the  clouds,  from  Heaven,  to  be  repealed, 

In  glory  of  the  Father,  to  dissolve 

Satan  with  his  perverted  world  ;  then  raise 

From  the  conflagrant  mass,  purged  and  refined, 

New  Heavens,  new  Earth,  ages  of  endless  date, 
Founded  in  righteousness,  and  peace,  and  love, 

To  bring  forth  fruits,  joy  and  eternal  bliss. 

He  ended ;  and  thus  Adam  last  replied  : 

How  soon  hath  thy  prediction,  Seer  blest, 

Measured  this  transient  world,  the  race  of  time, 

Till  time  stand  fixed  !  Beyond  is  all  abyss, 

Eternity,  whose  end  no  eye  can  reach. 

Greatly  instructed  I  shall  hence  depart ; 

Greatly  in  peace  of  thought ;  and  have  my  fill 
Of  knowledge,  what  this  vessel  can  contain ; 

Beyond  which  was  my  folly  to  aspire. 

Henceforth  I  learn,  that  -to  obey  is  best, 

And  love,  with  fear,  the  only  God  ;  to  walk 
As  in  His  presence,  ever  to  observe 
His  providence,  and  on  him  sole  depend, 

Merciful  over  all  his  works,  with  good 
Still  overcoming  evil,  and  by  small 
Accomplishing  great  things  ;  by  things  deemed  weak 
Subverting  worldly  strong,  and  worldly  wise 
By  simply  meek ;  that  suffering  for  truth’s  sake 
Is  fortitude  to  highest  victory  ; 

And,  to  the  faithful,  death  the  gate  of  life ; 

Taught  this  by  His  example,  whom  I  now 
Acknowledge  my  Redeemer  ever  blest. 

To  whom  thus  also  the  Angel  last  replied  : 

This  having  learned,  thou  hast  attained  the  sum 
Of  wisdom  ;  hope  no  higher,  though  all  the  stars 
Thou  knewest  by  name,  and  all  the  ethereal  powers, 
All  secrets  of  the  Deep,  all  Nature’s  works, 


312 


PARADISE  LOST 


[Book  XII.— 579-615 


Or  works  of  God  in  heaven,  air,  earth,  or  sea, 

And  all  the  riches  of  this  world  enjoyedst, 

And  all  the  rule,  one  empire.  Only  add 
Deeds  to  thy  knowledge  answerable ;  add  faith, 

Add  virtue,  patience,  temperance ;  add  love, 

By  name  to  come  called  charity,  the  soul 
Of  all  the  rest :  then  wilt  thou  not  be  loath 
To  leave  this  Paradise,  but  shalt  possess 
A  paradise  within  thee,  happier  far. 

Let  us  descend  now,  therefore,  from  this  top 

Of  speculation ;  for  the  hour  precise 

Exacts  our  parting  hence.  And,  see !  the  guards, 

By  me  encamped  on  yonder  hill,  expect 
Their  motion,  at  whose  front  a  flaming  sword, 

In  signal  of  remove,  waves  fiercely  round. 

We  may  no  longer  stay :  go,  waken  Eve  ; 

Her  also  I  with  gentle  dreams  have  calmed, 

Portending  good,  and  all  her  spirits  composed 
To  meek  submission ;  thou,  at  season  fit, 

Let  her  with  thee  partake  what  thou  hast  heard, 

Chiefly,  what  may  concern  her  faith  to  know, 

The  great  deliverance  by  her  seed  to  come — 

For  by  the  Woman’s  seed — on  all  mankind  ; 

That  ye  may  live,  which  will  be  many  days, 

Both  in  one  faith  unanimous,  though  sad, 

With  cause,  for  evils  past,  yet  much  more  cheered 
With  meditation  on  the  happy  end. 

He  ended,  and  they  both  descend  the  hill. 
Descended,  Adam  to  the  bower,  where  Eve 
Lay  sleeping,  ran  before,  but  found  her  waked  ; 

And  thus  with  words  not  sad  she  him  received  : 

Whence  thou  return’st,  and  whither  went’st,  I  know; 
For  God  is  also  in  sleep;  and  dreams  advise, 

Which  He  hath  sent  propitious,  some  great  good 
Presaging,  since,  with  sorrow  and  heart’s  distress 
Wearied,  I  fell  asleep.  But  now  lead  on, 

In  me  is  no  delay;  with  thee  to  go 


borne  natural  tears  they  dropt,  but  wiped  them  soon. 

Book  XII.,  line  C45. 


Book  XII.- 616-649] 


PARADISE  LOST. 


813 


Is  to  stay  here ;  without  thee  here  to  stay, 

Is  to  go  hence  unwilling  ;  thou  to  me 
Art  all  things  under  heaven,  all  places  thou, 

Who  for  my  wilful  crime  art  bairslml  fierce, 

This  further  consolation  yet  secure 
I  carry  hence ;  though  all  by  me  is  lost, 

Such  favour  I,  unworthy,  am  vouchsafed, 

By  me  the  Promised  Seed  shall  all  restore. 

So  spake  our  mother  Eve ;  and  Adam  heard, 
Well  pleased,  but  answered  not;  for  now,  too  nigh 
The  Archangel,  stood  ;  and  from  the  other  hill 
To  their  fixed  station,  all  in  bright  array, 

The  Cherubim  descended,  on  the  ground 
Gliding  meteorus,  as  evening  mist, 

Bisen  from  a  river,  o’er  the  marish  glides, 

And  gathers  ground  fast  at  the  labourer’s  heel, 
Homeward  returning.  High  in  front  advanced, 

The  brandished  sword  of  God  before  them  blazed, 
Fierce  as  a  comet ;  which,  with  torrid  heat, 

And  vapour  as  the  Lybian  air  adust, 

Began  to  parch  that  temperate  clime ;  whereat 
In  either  hand  the  hastening  Angel  caught 
Our  lingering  parents,  and  to  the  eastern  gate 
Led  them  direct,  and  down  the  clilf  as  fast 
To  the  subjected  plain ;  then  disappeared. 

They,  looking  back,  all  the  eastern  side  beheld 
Of  Paradise,  so  late  their  happy  seat, 

Waved  over  by  that  flaming  brand;  the  gate 
With  dreadful  faces  thronged,  and  fiery  arms. 

Some  natural  tears  they  dropt,  but  wiped  them  soon ; 
The  world  was  all  before  them,  where  to  choose 
Their  place  of  rest,  and  Providence  their  guide  : 

They,  hand  in  hand,  with  wandering  steps  and  slow, 
Through  Eden  took  their  solitary  way. 


* 


THE  END. 


